


O May I Join the Choir Invisible

by BanishedOne



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Detective Connor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Prison life, RK900 may or may not be a serial killer, Slow Burn, gavin punishment porn tbh, gavin reed's background, mysterious rk900, softcore depictions of violence, tattoo artist Gavin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanishedOne/pseuds/BanishedOne
Summary: Gavin Reed was a new inmate at a prison where the infamous killer, R. Nathan Kearney, was on death row. Circumstances led to an unfortunate encounter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [O May I Join The Choir Invisible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19210066) by [murderbotdisaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderbotdisaster/pseuds/murderbotdisaster)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [O May I Join the Choir Invisible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20624018) by [OkaMiSaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkaMiSaki/pseuds/OkaMiSaki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Kelso](https://twitter.com/connoroverwatch) for the title idea. I really appreciate it!

The first time Reed laid eyes on R. Nathan Kearney, it was in the prison yard. 

All of the inmates from Gen Pop stopped and turned their heads when the death row inmates were dragged out and Reed was no exception. He paused dead still, watching as a short line of men were herded into a small corridor built of cement and chainlink.

Reed could remember being a troubled teen when the news about Kearney's killings made headlines. They called him brutal, merciless, a monster whose chilling spree of murders and grotesque mutilations of his victims could make even the hardest person’s blood run cold. Seeing him in the flesh for the first time certainly sent a shiver down Reed's spine as he watched the famed killer from afar.

Kearney was a tall man of lithe build, with wavy, brown hair that appeared kept enough. He had a straight posture and a proud appearance for someone who was never let out of a locked cell without handcuffs and ankle chains. Other inmates often said that you could see the look of a killer within his icy stare. 

Reed wasn't close enough to tell that day. And in his mind, gawking at a chained up murderer behind a fence quickly lost its appeal, so he went back to business as usual.

That business consisted of picking fights that he could never win and making enemies left and right. Every waking moment was a goddamn pissing contest because Reed wasn't the type to align himself with many others.

Actually, good sense be damned, he kept his pride on a pedestal, refusing to forge fake alliances out of cowardice. He preferred fighting for his life day to day, if it meant never having to suck shit from anybody, or playing any stupid, little alpha-dog dick-swinging games.

His ego's only blind spot was sucking dick in exchange for contraband cigarettes. He told himself that it wasn’t so bad, as long as he favored the nicest dicks, and it definitely wasn't something to be ashamed of if he enjoyed it somewhat.

Months went by. Same old, same old. Fight a Nazi in the mess hall at breakfast. Get manhandled by a guard. Suck a dick in the showers. Get jumped by Nazis in the yard. Smoke a kinked cigarette with two black eyes and bruised ribs. Steal a new inmate's meal at dinner.

On and on and on.

It was already becoming crystal clear to Reed that twenty years of this shit was going to be unbearable.

It wasn't long before Reed got himself into very hot water, the like which had no easy escape. He 'accidentally' crossed the wrong people. He 'accidentally' got someone busted with contraband narcotics and the person in charge of their scheme was not happy with him.

Reed got the usual ass-beating, which was par for the course, but he also had a shiv forced into his hand, which he was instructed to use on any death row inmate of his choice. 

The rhyme or reason for it escaped him. He didn't exactly want additional charges added to his sentence and that was sure to result, but the alternative was having a shiv stuck between his own ribs.

So, that day, when the inmates from Gen Pop were let out into the yard, Reed tucked his shiv out of sight and slowly approached the fenced-off area where the death row inmates were held. He decided that R. Kearney would be his victim and the logic behind it was simple; well, Kearney was the only one Reed had ever heard of, or recognized.

He recalled Kearney’s image all over social media; his mugshot, pictures from his life. Reed remembered people looking at Kearney’s face and saying that they 'could just tell' that he was insane-- handsome, though.

"Hey, Kearney," Reed called as he came to the outdoor run, populated by the death row inmates. He hit the chain link, rattling it to get the other man’s attention. 

Kearney glanced over immediately, but he did not stop walking, instead regarding Reed like he was some pesky insect that needed to be swatted away. He also didn't come any closer to the fence, making it clear that this would be a hard bargain to drive.

Persisting, Reed followed along, walking parallel to Kearney and making a new offer with the hope of drawing some interest.

"Want a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke," Kearney answered.

"Yeah, why not? What do you have to lose?" Of course, reminding him of his imminent demise probably wasn't helping. "Oh come on, man. I sucked a dick for this, so it's a generous offer. I just wanna talk."

With a sigh, Kearney stepped a bit closer to the fence, his ice cold eyes studying Reed; he wore glasses now, which was a new addition to his image, as far as Reed could recall.

"What about?"

"I don't know, the usual." Reed shrugged. He was winging this shit, so of course he blanked right when it was most important to hold the man’s interest. "I can't imagine you get a lot of social interaction. You're in a cell alone usually, yeah?"

"We're off to a great start," Kearney hummed in as much annoyance as condescension.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to be such a prick," Reed said, laughing out of habit. He did that whenever he got nervous. "So, hey, I think I was sixteen when they caught you and it was all over the news back then. I was kind of an edgy kid so my reaction was like, 'oh, that's so cool.'"

"Still think so?" Kearney asked. He was as intense as expected and it came across like he was very bored with this conversation.

Reed shrugged in reply. He thought it was impressive that Kearney evaded capture for so long. But as far as murdering people for no real reason? No, of course he didn't think that was ‘cool.’ 

"Maybe not,” he answered. Kearney had slowed his pace, so Reed matched him, swaggering alongside the chainlink fence that stood between them. “I'm curious why you did it though. You did do it, right?"

"Which one?" Kearney asked.

This gave Reed pause, if in momentary confusion. "..all of them?"

"Hm.." the other man hummed, noncommital, disinterested, then said nothing.

"What's wrong? I thought killers liked talking about their insidious deeds?"

"Perhaps. I suppose it depends on the audience,” Kearney intoned, sparing Reed a glance of consideration. “Can you really discuss the topic in a way that doesn't sound tired and repetitive to my ears?"

"I guess not," Reed answered with some falter. He got it– this was all anybody ever wanted to talk about. He wouldn’t be deterred, however. "So do you want the cigarette or not?" 

Reed glanced over his shoulder, checking for COs, then he unfastened one of the buttons at the collar of his orange jumpsuit and produced the mentioned item. It was actually half smoked already and would probably have a bad taste anyway, so no major loss on his part.

Kearney took another step closer, the chains between his ankles rattling. He extended his cuffed hands to the chainlink, keeping an arm’s length worth of distance between it and his body. Reed’s eyes followed his movements with almost too much interest.

They waited for the patrol guard to pass by before Kearney raised the cigarette back to the fence for Reed to light.

"So," Kearney said, eyeing the shorter man, taking a long draw and blowing a puff of smoke over his shoulder. He gestured to the messy patch stitched to Reed’s chest, which listed his surname and ID number, "Reed, is it?"

"Yeah.” Reed glanced down at the patch automatically. “Well, it’s Gavin. I don't really go by Reed, cept' in here."

"Neither do I." Kearney paused to take another rushed draw from the cigarette before the CO passed by. "Reid is my first name. I've never really gone by it, either."

"No shit?” Reed chuckled, his brows quirking upward. “Huh."

Kearney’s eyes studied the man before him and he idly moved the lit cigarette in his hand, weaving it between his fingers, until finally bringing it back to his lips for another draw. "What are you in for, Gavin Reed?"

“Oh,” Reed turned his eyes away, shifting his weight between his feet. "A lot of stuff, really."

"We have maybe twenty minutes if you'd like to sum it up."

"Okay, so, I faked being a police officer a few times with a fake badge and everything. I did that to steal a bunch of personal information. I got credit cards under other people's names, stole a car, moved across the country thinking that I could get away with it if I ran away." He gestured indistinctly as he spoke, telling all of this in one breath.

Kearney only nodded, curling the cigarette under his palm to conceal it as the patrol passed by again.

"That worked for a while,” Reed went on, “I started new when I arrived here– in the area, I mean. I was training to be a tattoo artist. Then I pulled my usual shit and fucked it all up..” For a moment, Reed trailed off. When he continued, his voice dropped to a lower volume, “I was dating this guy, then one night I caught him with another dude. I might've.. pulled a knife on the one guy."

With a sweeping gesture, like he was washing clean the mistakes of his past, Reed continued, "I got taken in after that and the past caught up with me very quickly from there." 

And to this point, he wasn't living his prison life much differently; maybe this was where he belonged. He sighed, bringing his jaded, hazel gaze back to the face of the man on the other side of the fence, his head still slightly drooped. Kearney was quietly listening, his interest veiled, any reaction to all he’d heard entirely indistinct. If he held any judgement for Reed, he did not disclose it.

"Hey, can I get maybe a puff off that?" Reed asked, inching closer to the fence and hanging one hand against it as he nodded at the cigarette.

"What? Without blowing me?" For the first time in this entire exchange, Kearney smiled. It was a sly, little grin, barely upturning the corners of his lips.

"Oh fuck you," Reed hissed with a laugh. He pressed his face to the fence, so that his nose poked through and his mouth was encircled by a diamond of interwoven metal. "Share."

Reed liked to think that he had some degree of charm, though maybe that was a subjective thing. Still, something about the coy look he gave Kearney finally drew the other man close. He brought his cuffed hands up to deliver the cigarette to Reed's mouth, fingertips brushing his lips.

Reed closed his eyes, taking a draw off the cigarette, basking in the much needed rush of nicotine before he produced a shiv from his sleeve and drove it through the fence with a hard jab of his hand.

Kearney let out a hiss and leapt back like the fence had electrocuted him, his cuffed hands hurrying to where a prick of pain and heat was blooming, just above his hip. His fingers pressed tight against his jumpsuit as a dark, red stain quickly began to spread out from underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the story. All kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also follow me on social media for other content. =)
> 
>  
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
> [TUMBLR](https://banishfics.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

They locked Reed in solitary for a week. He supposed it wasn't so awful, as a reprieve from the consistent threat of violence.

It wasn't until three days of nothing but cement walls and fluorescent lights, and the indistinguishable howl echoing down the halls that it began to feel never-ending. 

R. Nathan Kearney inevitably consumed Reed's thoughts. Of course he did-- his face was the last thing Reed saw before a CO knocked him flat and put him in cuffs.  
Reed could find the image of Kearney's blood weeping down his prison jumpsuit in the water stains on the ceiling of his cell. 

He fixated on the bizarre juxtaposition of having Kearney's fingertips delicately poised against his lips, while his own hand drove a blade into the other man's gut.

And then there was also the stark comparison between memories bouncing around nonstop in Reed's head. His greatest mistake, committed in rage; a knife in his hand, pressed to the pulse of a pleading man, while his boyfriend stood naked and crying only a few feet away.

That was held up next to this new act, more despicable than the last. He'd done it in fear and desperation, and he hadn't stayed his hand this time. He felt so small, so irredeemable. 

But hey, hey, hey-- the guy on the receiving end was a damn serial killer, and frankly kind of a prick. His days were numbered, anyway. He deserved what he got.  
At least saying so quelled the rage Reed felt. That and flipping his cot upright in order to use it as a punching bag.

When Reed was integrated back into Gen Pop, the men who had instructed him to shank Kearney had thankfully forgotten he existed. A few days later, a guard came to interrupt him in the mess hall, claiming that someone had come to see him.

"That's difficult to believe. I don't have any family," he replied, cross as hell because he'd taken about three bites of his breakfast and if he left now, his meal was essentially forfeited, one way or another.

"On your feet inmate," the CO persisted.

They didn't take him to the usual visitation area, instead guiding him toward a private room. When they neared their destination, the guard so kindly explained, "A Detective R. Kearney is here to speak to you."

It was way too fuckin’ early for the double take that bit of info brought on.

The room was white and empty, save for a table and a man. The guard ushered Reed in, then stood at the door. Reed stood a few feet from the door, squinting in confusion at the man before him.

"Look at that, it's a fuckin' clone," Reed mused, observing the man who stood to greet him- tall, well dressed, clean shaven and put together. He was the mirror image of the man on death row, but neater and better fed. He was still thin, but more baby-faced whereas his clone in cuffs had hollow shadows to his features.

"I'm Detective Kearney," the man introduced himself, beckoning Reed to have a seat at the table. Reed sauntered over and sat across from the other man, looking him warily in the eye. His eyes were a different color from those of presumably his sibling, but they were equal in their coldness.

"I already told the last Detective everything," Reed said, leaning back in his chair and plunking one foot on the table. The detective looked at it in disdain. "There were only three people whose info I stole and I only took one car. Don't try to pin any new shit on me."

"I'm not here about that." The Detective began, reaching into his breast pocket to draw out a coin, which he idly rolled across his fingers. "I'm here on behalf of Nathan Kearney, my brother."

"That's fuckin' rich." Reed placed a hand against his middle and his head fell back in a laugh. "So one twin is a serial killer and the other is a detective. That is some real yin and yang shit."

The detective's pretty jawline went tight as he clenched it, and his nose wrinkled for a moment. Unlike his brother, his growing agitation was easily visible. His emotions were written on him like marks on paper- right now it was black ink, heavy-handed, printing the word ‘frustration.’

"He has apparently decided not to press charges, or so I've been informed,” the detective intoned, brows twitching upward.

"Great!" Reed dropped his foot to the ground, leaning in close to the table to rap his hands impatiently against it. "So why the fuck am I here?"

The coin stopped between the detective's thumb and forefinger. He clenched it tightly between his fingertips and slowly glanced in the direction of the guard. Reed looked over and watched the guard turn and slip out the door. When it clicked shut, the detective's hand flew across and grabbed Reed by the neck, slamming his face down forcefully into the table top.

"You're here to learn a lesson," the detective hissed. "--that if you ever think to harm my brother again, in any way, you'll be dealing with me. Is that understood?"

"Fuck you, twink-ass cop," Reed grunted against the table, face down in the dirt from his own shoe. "What do you care? Your brother is a murderer."

"Yes," the detective said with a sigh, turning Reed loose and watching him shoot upright in his seat, snarling like an indignant animal. The detective's brow furrowed softly. "But he is also my brother."

The coin was tucked away and the detective's fingers fussed against the knot of his tie, then he smoothed back a stray lock of hair that fell against his forehead. Reed watched him, body tense and tongue tracing the inside of his lip, where he was sure a previous split had been re-opened.

"So then he did do it? The murders?" Reed reached a fingertip inside his mouth, then drew it back out, checking for blood.

"Of course he did," the detective muttered, voice suddenly dull. "I would know. I'm the one who put him where he is now."

"Hm," Reed nodded, lips forming a tight line. "..So like, because it was the right thing to do, or as a way to resolve any future sibling rivalry? I mean, it's gotta suck, sharing both your face and your parents affections."

The detective narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. He had a look like he'd smelled something foul. He brushed it off, walking toward the door to excuse himself.

"I can see why he likes you," the detective grumbled, "He always had a thing for idiotic assholes."

Reed sat, processing, mouth open, eyes clenched to slits. "..what?"

When he got back to the mess area, as expected, his entire breakfast had been picked clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is so short. Can you all believe that I've been writing this story on my phone? Haha, anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the story. All kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also follow me on social media for other content. =)
> 
>  
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
> [TUMBLR](https://banishfics.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Later that day, when the inmates of Gen Pop were let out into the yard, Reed noticed that Kearney was also out and about again. They had kindly granted him a small chair to use, in order for him to enjoy some fresh air without exacerbating his wound.  


Reed hesitated to go over to the caged run, opting instead to linger at a picnic table, playing checkers with a heavily tattooed elder. 

"That's some nice work," Reed gestured to the old man's sleeve of the virgin Mary, wreathed in ivy. "Didja’ get that done here?"

The man brought a weathered hand to the checkers board, moving his piece and taking two of Reed's in a double jump. While Reed let out a hiss of annoyance, the old man chuckled and said, "Yeah, a buddy of mine did it. He used to do all the inkwork around here. Made good money."

And yet Reed had never heard of this guy. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, leaning to rest his face in one palm, fingers scratching at his stubbled cheek. "So what happened to him?"

"Finished his sentence," The old man stated with a scoff of disappointment. He turned a cold, dark gaze in the direction of where a small, but ruthless band of ABs from Reed’s cell block had gathered. They were hogging the exercise equipment, as usual. "Only person doing ink now is one of them skinheads, and whatever he’s using for ink, it always has bumps and scabs off."

Reed let out a scoff of his own, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well. It’s not like forehead swastikas can look any stupider, right?” He gave the old guy a grin as the man took out a cigarette and lit it, laughing to himself before he shoved it between his teeth. 

Watching somebody else smoke made Reed itch in an unpleasant way. Bored, his attention shifted from the group of sunburned Nazis and the checkers game, over in the direction of the death row inmates. He immediately spied R. Nathan Kearney, who was still seated in his own, special chair, legs crossed at the ankle and a book in hand.

"Alright,” Reed said with a sigh, thumping his palms against the table. “Since you're kickin' my ass at this, I'm gonna run and talk to one of my buddies, instead."

The old man let out a smoky laugh that rattled through his chest. "You don't have any buddies."

"Yeah alright, old man, neither do you." Reed kicked the dirt beneath his feet in the man's direction, then trudged off. 

He went quickly but not so fast that he caused any guards to get twitchy. Reed slowed significantly as he approached the death row area, but he might've also made a spectacle of himself by attempting to appear overly casual.

"Reed!" one of the guards called out. It was never a good sign when the COs knew your damn name without even reading your name patch. Reed glanced in the guard’s direction, looking over the hulking, brow-haired man, and the CO gestured at him in warning. "You go any closer to that fence and you will be getting searched."

"Easy," Reed said, laughing despite the sharpness to his tone and putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm going over to make amends, not start shit.”

Regardless of whether the CO believed Reed or not, he decided that today just wasn’t the day that he’d let an inmate willfully disobey him. And so, this huge man who was damn near bulging out of his uniform, went through with his threat to search Reed. 

Reed wasted what felt like ten minutes T posing with his legs widespread, just so the CO could be sure that he didn't have a knife somehow clenched between his ass cheeks. All the while, Kearney had his book folded shut on his knee, blue eyes focused in Reed's direction, watching intently while another man's hands roved up and down Reed's body, fingers tucking between his legs and pressing unnecessarily deep into sensitive places.

When the guard finally finished his search, Reed was red-faced in anger, but Kearney had that weasel smile at the corners of his mouth. Reed took a damn breath, counting to ten and other such shit, until he was finally reached the fence.

"Hello again, Gavin Reed," Kearney spoke first, like something in him had been eager for that chance. 

As usual, Reed blanked entirely in Kearney's presence, under the scrutiny of his gaze, like a hand squeezing at his neck.

"It's weird as fuck to hear someone actually use my first name," Reed breathed, hands idly gripping the chain link, so his arms hung against the fence.

Why had he come over again? He really wasn't guilty enough that he felt the need to apologize; that was just an excuse he made up. Plus, he didn't apologize to weak inmates when he took their food, he didn't apologize to Nazis for punching their ugly, inbred faces, and he didn't apologize to murderers for giving them a taste of their own medicine.

Right?

More than anything, it was probably the rush of excitement he felt in Kearney's presence that had drawn him over. He needed something to keep him from dying of boredom and for now this man's mysterious, dangerous energy provided a sweet, little bit of adrenaline, wrapped up in safe, chain link package.

"So I guess you uhh.. healed alright, huh?" Reed grinned like 'haha I stabbed you' was in any way flirtatious. Surprisingly, Kearney smiled in return, combing one elegant hand through his dark brown waves, the steel of his cuffs clinking.

"Your blow hardly breached the muscle," Kearney's voice came out smooth and composed. "For somebody ultimately imprisoned for a knife-related crime, you have an awfully light touch."

"Oh is that right?" Reed laughed. This guy had some fuckin’ gall. "Maybe if you had pressed yourself against the fence and yelled, 'deeper,' I might've obliged."

"What good would it have done? Your tool was awfully small-- inadequate for any satisfyingly deep penetration."

"Unbe-fuckin-lievable." Reed swatted the fence. "You're really gonna make this about my dick, huh?"

Kearney tilted his head in an inquisitive way, glasses shining as the sun hit them. "You started it."

"Okay okay, smartass, Jesus.." He trailed off, quieting and looking Kearney up and down. The man had wider built shoulders than his cop brother, and though his frame was slender from a poor diet, his chest had a certain visible bulk, even from beneath his baggy jumpsuit.

"So what brought you over today?" Kearney came to a stand, leaving his book behind in his seat. He moved with a powerful steadiness, as though the stitches he surely wore across his abdomen didn't bother him at all. "Hoping to finish the job?"

Reed's smile faded, his gray eyes moving to glance elsewhere. Kearney's tone was strangely lighthearted about the matter, but for some reason, it rubbed Reed wrong.

"The job IS done,” Reed insisted, speaking like a cowed child. “I wasn't trying to kill you."

"Oh," Kearney nodded, striding strangely close to the fence for someone who'd already been stabbed for that mistake. "Well, luckily for you, I can appreciate the occasional 'friendly stabbing.'"

Kearney's cuffed hands went to the fence, his fingers curling around the chain link. He was watching Reed with a heavy kind of intensity, his blue eyes uncomfortably fixed on the curve of Reed's lips as Reed he let out a nervous chuckle.

"It wasn't personal," Reed clarified. He needed to get that much off his chest. "I fucked up and then some gang assholes put me up to it with the usual bullshit threats. I feel like a fuckin’ punk though-- should've just taken my ass beating like a man."

"You feel remorseful?" Kearney questioned, intrigue in his tone.

"I feel weak."

"I understand."

Reed curved his neck, upturning his head so his eyes met the other man's; Jesus he was so fuckin’ tall and his features were impossibly neutral, like still water. Compared to his brother, they were night and day.

"At the same time," Kearney began, that sneaky smile returning to his pretty lips, "You left me with three stitches in total, so there's nothing I can say to make you feel tough, Gavin Reed."

"You are a real condescending fuck, you know that?" And yet every time Kearney made one of his sharp, little comments, Reed smiled.

"Has nobody ever teased you before?" Kearney smiled too, though his head turned aside, his eyes going dim. "You must've been an only child."

"Yeah.." The only child of an alcoholic mother-- that was the same thing, sure, but he'd been teased plenty, that was, if you considered being called a worthless mistake ‘teasing.’ Maybe there was a difference in context that Reed was missing. Anyway. "So what's up with your brother, then? Does he have the same name or what?"

"What?" Kearney’s head snapped back in Reed’s direction, his focus turning hard and steady.

"Detective R. Kearney," Reed clarified.

"We have the same initials- his first name is Raul but he goes by Con-"

"Raul?” Reed chuckled, oblivious to the other man’s shift in mood. “Like Paul but with an R?"

"Yes."

"Raul and Reid?" Reed laughed over it, bending so that his face pressed close to the fence. He looked at where Kearney's cuffed hands were resting, then up again.  
Reed straightened, getting nearer, holding Kearney's gaze. "Was that some twin shit that your parents thought was cute?"

"I wouldn't know," Kearney uttered. There was something in his eyes, something veiled there, not reaching his face. His gaze went from Reed's own eyes, then to his mouth, lower, and back to his eyes.

Then, before Reed knew it, one of Kearney's fingers latched in the collar of his jumpsuit, and his hand tightly tangled there, pulling his face against the chain link with a sharp yank. The length of chain between Kearney's cuffs was stretched tight and from the sleeve of his free hand, a sharp implement was produced suddenly.

The point of the makeshift weapon was pushed through the fence, sharp edge pressed to Reed's cheek enough to dimple the flesh, but not draw blood- not yet.

"What do you know about my brother?" Kearney asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

"The cop?" Reed grunted, eyes wide, gaze trying hard to focus on the sharp object pressed against his face. "I don't know shit about him. He showed up at the crack of fuckin’ dawn to harass me."

Reed's throat moved in a swallow and he took a breath, desperate gray eyes shifting back to Kearney’s countenance. "He roughed me up already, so this shit is uncalled for."

"My brother visited you?" Suddenly, a small bubble of emotion showed itself on Kearney's face, in the soft furrow between his brows. It looked so misplaced. "..He hasn't visited me since I've been here."

There was a pause, and it offered Reed the option of saying something to get himself out of this mess.

"Damn. Your brother sent you to your death and can't even be bothered to come say hi? Sounds like he's a real prick, so.. no major loss."

That wasn't it.

"I think I should leave you with a few stitches of your own," Kearney said, dragging the sharp edge across Reed's cheek so that it made the lightest scratch. "It's just tit for tat, wouldn't you say?"

Reed let out a nervous laugh. "Not if it's more than three. And that hardly seems worth the effort."

"Hmm.." Kearney considered it, pushing the sharp implement against the bridge of Reed's nose. "I disagree."

With a hard swipe of Kearney's hand, the razor edge sliced across Reed's nose, gashing it open so that Reed let out a howl of pain. His fists struck the chain link in a desperate attempt to free himself and Kearney let him go with ease, so that Reed toppled back, landing on his ass.

Reed shuffled backward in the dirt, one hand shaking and pressed against the wound weeping red in streaks down his chin, down his neck. He stared up, wide-eyed, at Kearney, watching as the man calmly strode back to his chair and seated himself.

The guards dragged Kearney to his feet moments later, pushing him toward the door to death row, where his cell awaited him.

The COs that yanked Reed to his feet were little gentler and he said nothing at all. All he could hope was that they didn't leave him to rot in solitary for the rest of his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. All kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also follow me on social media for other content. =)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
> [TUMBLR](https://banishfics.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

"The cartilage was damaged but it should heal," the doctor was explaining as she taped a doofy-looking nose cast to Reed's face. She probably saw a fair share of injuries to the nose, working in the prison infirmary. "The actual cut was clean enough and only needed three sutures."

"Well I'll be damned," Reed said, staring up at the infirmary ceiling. Nothing about this was funny or pleasant, because Reed couldn't breathe worth a damn and now his eyes were black and swollen again, right as they had begun to look better.

But somehow Kearney had managed to leave Reed with the exact same number of stitches that Reed had left on him, and there was something amusing about the sheer unlikelihood of it. Hopefully they really were square.

"So do you think my injury is severe enough that I can get out of work for a few days?" He asked, sitting upright while the doctor took off her gloves.

"I don't think so," she said, blunt to the point that it was unsympathetic. "I can give you some pain medication-- that's about it."

He walked out of there with a Styrofoam cup that contained about one mouthful of tap water and six Tylenol in a goddamn envelope. He was still woozy as all hell from the amount of blood that had seeped out of him, and itching from what had dried on his skin.

It was a thankful experience just to shower off, then have dinner in some semblance of peace. He'd expected to be a ripe target, given his weakened circumstance, but he must have looked like he was ready to murder the next person who tangled with him.

He spent a miserable hour in the common area where there was a television, but he didn't really have control over it. It was just background noise to the monotony of his existence. His bored head ventured off to thoughts of R. Nathan Kearney.

He wondered what Kearney was doing right now, off in another area of the same building, so close but impossible to reach. Was he pleased with himself? Were his fingers still stained with Reed's blood? Was he thinking of Reed at all or had he moved on entirely? 

Kearney was probably laid out on his bunk, with his book in hand and his legs loosely crossed. But then again, maybe his skin was prickled with excitement and his head was swimming with satisfaction at having done Reed harm.

Maybe he was there in his cell with his hard cock in his hand, his brow lightly beaded with perspiration as he jerked himself. His beautifully neutral features would suddenly twist in unabashed delight while thoughts of Reed flashed through his mind, thoughts of Reed no longer denied to his touch by chainlink and handcuffs.

If there was enough blood left in Reed's face for him to blush, the bruises and bandages hid it all away. There was certainly enough blood left for some OTHER things, which required him to make some quick readjustments. It wasn't terribly unusual in a prison full of sexually tense men, but he wanted to save it for later anyway.

When he was in his bunk later that evening and lights out had been called, he finally set the beast free, palming himself to thoughts of Kearney's hands tight in his hair and his cock deep in his throat. It took about three whole minutes, then afterwards Reed went off to the most peaceful sleep possible in a building filled with snoring, crying, moaning, farting other men, while also not being able to breathe worth a damn through his nose.

The next morning, Reed's whole face was swollen and aching worst than the day before. A loudspeaker called all inmates out of bed for counts at 6am and when the CO finally made it over to Reed's cubical, he snorted and made a snide comment while ticking both Reed and Manfred off on his clipboard.

"IS that Reed?" He chuckled. "Hard to tell."

When he was out of earshot, Reed hissed the word, "prick." Manfred just laughed over it like the dumb, little dipshit that he was.

After counts, everyone from Reed's block was set free to head down to the toilets. He and Manfred both grabbed their toothbrushes, but Manfred actually had toothpaste-- stupid little shit, with his rich Daddy on the outside and his prison Daddy on the inside.

The toilets were as awful as one might imagine. Urinals, stalls without doors, a row of sinks, then a long line just to get in. Manfred always got to cut the line because his prison Daddy, who was running the dominant drug scheme, was at the front. 

Reed though? Nah, he never made it in before the place was permeated with shit stink. He usually got back to his cubical before the place was overrun by ABs, though. If not he'd probably end up drowned in a toilet bowl. Fuckin’ Nazis.

Reed made it back to his cubical without incident. He knew he must have reeked of victim by this point, so he was even more antsy than usual. Manfred had his kettle going and even though Reed couldn't even smell the coffee, the urge was still there.

"Hey dipshit, make me a coffee," he said, slapping Manfred in the arm with the back of his hand.

"It was so fuckin’ peaceful while you were in solitary," Manfred grumbled. He glanced over when Reed paid him no mind, setting to making up his cot. "You know drinking hot shit will make your nose start bleeding all over again."

"Don't care."

"I don't owe you shit Reed. I cleaned up your last mess, you should be blowing my dick right now."

"My last mess??" Reed turned on heel and strode right into the skinny kid's personal space. "If I recall correctly, YOU were the dumb shit who had drugs hidden in your goddamn bunk. You caused your own mess."

"Yeah but the COs never would have searched it if you hadn't got caught with cigarettes." Manfred hissed back, scrappy as a wet alley cat, and well aware that if this came to blows, Reed would be the one getting skinned alive in the end.

"I paid off the loss," Manfred went on. "If I hadn't, our guys would have beat you to death, or the ABs that you started shit with would've found out that you weren't good with us any more, and you still would've ended up X'ed out. You are on such thin fuckin’ ice and still you insist on making waves."

"Fuck you, Manfred. So you kept me from being your whipping boy, big fuckin’ deal." Reed threw up his hands, turning aside to let his knuckles wrap against the steel of their bunks. "Saving yourself from a guilty conscience ain't the same as doin' me a favor."

"Whatever man." Manfred turned his back on Reed, pouring his water into a cup with instant coffee mix that he got from the canteen. He sipped it while making up his own cot, and Reed went to the floor to do several pushups. That was also gonna make his nose bleed again. Idiot.

When he was done, he was at least a little more cool-headed. He dug his envelope of Tylenol out, choking two down dry. 

"I'll give you one of my painkillers for a cup of coffee," Reed offered. Manfred more happily obliged trade over demands. Just like a rich kid to ask 'what's in it for me?' Fuckin’ little shit.

"You really should run with us," Manfred said with a shrug as he handed Reed a cup of weak, instant coffee. "The Nazis are out for you, you NEED the protection. This lone wolf shit ain't cuttin'."

"Yeah well," Reed took a hearty gulp of coffee. "Maybe I'll just kill a few of them first, then get sent over to death row where I don't have to worry."

"Right." Manfred was unconvinced. Who was Reed kidding? The last guy he'd stabbed was off his feet for a few days at best. "Go live with the psychopath that did THAT to your face."

Reed didn't say anything. They were called for breakfast right after, anyway, so the conversation kinda fell to the wayside. 

Still-- it was a thought.

;

Reed's work tended to vary, but the commute was always the same. COs led everyone assigned to outdoor labor onto a gray school bus, then they carted them off to the middle of butt fuck nowhere.

Most of the work involved lumber or scrap. It was physically demanding and extremely labor intensive; they even tested your fitness before assigning you. It was considered one of the more desirable positions, though, mainly because of the scenic views and the killer pay. 

Yeah. 60 cents an hour for back-breaking labor. Quite a score.

But then again, most of the in house jobs paid .20 cents or less an hour. Reed really had no choice if he ever wanted anything from the prison canteen, because he didn't have family to send him shit and he wasn't selling drugs.

He didn't get through his work day without the foretold nosebleed, but the COs just gave him a handful of napkins that they probably picked up with their coffee and donuts, the bastards. He crumpled a few, shoved them up his dripping, swollen nose, then went back to work.

He was done by 2pm, then he was hauled onto the bus and driven back to the prison. The ride was always Hell because even with every bus window wide open, the stank of 25 sweaty men could not be aired out. Reed was actually kind of glad he couldn't smell anything and the air on his swollen face was nice.

He got the privilege of two showers on most days. The after-work shower was more of a rinse off, and he had to get in and out in three minutes.

After, he was allowed time in the yard. To his not-so-surprise displeasure, when the death row inmates were dragged out, R. Nathan Kearney wasn't among them. He had obviously lost his yard privilege for an unknown length of time.

Reed wondered how long it would be before he saw him again. Maybe Kearney had lost his outdoor time for good? Reed doubted the gash across his nose was really worth the trouble..

A better question was why the fuck did he care? Well maybe 'care' wasn't the right word. He was disappointed. Somehow, despite the circumstances and all the bullshit, Reed had somewhat enjoyed his interactions with Kearney.

The guy would probably cut Reed's body into little pieces if he had half a chance. More than likely, that was exactly what went through his head each and every time he fixed Reed with that cold, blue stare of his.

Days went by. Still no Kearney.

Reed had anger management meetups once a week; they came and went. Still no Kearney.

He eventually got jumped by Nazis, then instead of dying honorably, he suffered the indignity of having Manfred save his ass. The inevitable 'join us' conversation came up again. Reed said no again.

Still no Kearney.

Prison was stressful and boring and lonely.

Reed finally got to take his nose cast off, and the bandages. He still looked like a wreck, but at least the wreck was JUST his face and nothing more. The scar would probably even look kinda tough once it actually was a scar.

Prison was stressful and boring and lonely.

Reed hadn't had many real friends outside of prison either, now that he thought about it. His home life left him maladjusted and poorly socialized, and very, very angry.

It was a wonder HE hadn't turned out to be a serial killer because he definitely sported the antisocial personality disorder like it was a hot trend. That and being consistently reminded throughout his life that he could only depend on himself really had a way of turning his focus inward, teaching him that only HE would ever care about HIM and as such, he couldn't afford to care about anybody else.

That last boyfriend was the closest Reed ever came to loving another human being, and even then he was shown how unworthy of love he was, when said boyfriend cheated on him in secret.

It brought him back to his most shameful charge-- attempted murder.

Heartbreak and betrayal turned into blind rage, and losing that one, important feeling after waiting so long to experience it; that almost made Reed into a killer.

But it didn't, because Reed felt guilt and sympathy, and remorse. And goddamnit, prison was lonely and boring and stressful.

Reed broke down and joined the tatted, old guy in a game of cards, to see if he did any better at that. He supposed the inevitable loss was worth the interaction.

"So hey, about your friend who did the tattoos," Reed started up a conversation, to distract himself from how badly he was getting beaten. "Did he leave behind any of his tools?"

"Nahh. I think he took them when he went. He was here for a long time, so they held a lot of sentimental value."

"Shit!" Reed swore. His hand was garbage. He let out a sigh. "Fold. Also, that fuckin’ sucks. Good for him, but that still fuckin’ sucks."

"You got an interest in the trade?"

"Yeah, I was training to be a tattoo artist before I was arrested."

"Do you do it any better than you play cards?" The old man laughed. Reed smiled and gave the guy the bird.

"I can tell you what he used to make his equipment and such, if you're really serious about it."

"For real?" Reed perked for the first time since he sat down. "Yeah man, I'm completely fuckin’ serious. Beyond serious. Like, this is something I wanted to do with my life before I ended up here and the thought of being able to carry on with it.. That gives me reason to persist, you know?"

"All right, kid." The old guy looked around, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting up. 

Reed shifted uncomfortably. "Let me bum one."

"Do you wanna know how to make the guns or do you want a cigarette?"

"Both."

"One or the other."

"Fuck dude!" Reed threw his cards down on the table, casting them off. "Fine, tell me what I need."

The old bastard took a long draw just to taunt Reed, smiling with yellow teeth and laughing. "Alright. You need the walkman tape player and CD player from commissary, a couple of ballpoint pens, some seran wrap, a candle or two, then some of that Johnson's & Johnson's."

"What the lotion?"

"No the baby oil."

"Shit." Reed kicked the bench. "It would take me more than a year to save the money for all that."

Reed's head fell into his hands at the prospect. Even IF he could save enough for all that stuff, knowing his luck, he'd get caught with the equipment within days of having them made and then he could kiss his dreams goodbye.

It was great that he never even bothered kissing his dreams hello..

The big, barred door that led out from the death row corridor clanged open then, and Reed turned his head to glance over, like pretty much everybody else in the yard. A few unfamiliar inmates were released into the fenced run and among them, a figure who towered over each in height.

"They finally let Kearney back out into the yard.." Reed said with a hmph’, excitement rushing in his veins. He patted one hand against the table and shot to his feet in order to walk over.

The COs weren't impressed. They must have thought Reed was a glutton for punishment. One yelled in his direction the moment they noticed him, saying, "Stay back five feet from the fence, inmate."

Reed put his hands up in submission, stopping a short distance from the fence. His eyes were trained on Kearney, but the other man didn't necessarily look pleased to see him. He didn't have one of those faces that tended to look pleased about anything, though.

And yet, Kearney was the first one to speak up, slowly approaching the fence, only for a CO to warm him to stay back as well. He stopped at an arm’s length and said, “It suits you.”

"Wha-" Reed uttered in confusion.

Kearney's cuffed hands reached up to tap the bridge of his own nose, to indicate the mark he'd left on Reed.

"Oh," Reed grumbled, with a scoff. "Yeah well, I don't exactly appreciate it."

"I thought you were into the practice of permanently marking the body?" Kearney's brow furrowed softly in thought. "Didn't you mention being a tattoo artist before?"

"I uh.." Reed scratched at the back of his neck. "I hadn't thought you were listening when I said that."

"I was," Kearney confirmed. The blue of his eyes then moved noticeably over Reed's body, in consideration, in curiosity. "So what other markings do you have?"

"I don't really have any." His answer was sheepish and he kicked at the dirt underfoot. "I could never really afford them. I just liked them." 

"Ah," Kearney nodded, one of those sly smiles making it's way to his lips. "Well then I'm happy to have been your first."

The man behind the fence gestured for Reed to follow along with him as he turned to keep walking, obviously ill-content to spend his outdoor time standing in place. Reed obeyed like a tiny, drifting space rock, caught in the gravity of some magnificent star.   
The guards also didn't notice how much distance was or was not being kept between them if they kept moving, so Reed took advantage by inching a few paces nearer.

"You'll have a story to tell when you get out of here, anyway," Kearney said, commenting again on the scar he left behind on the other man's face. Not many people could say an infamous figure had left such a mark on them.

"That's gonna be a while from now.." Reed grumbled with a listless sigh. His tone drew a neutral glance from Kearney.

"But you will get out one day," Kearney said. "You have something to look forward to, even if it seems distant."

"Yeah, right, right.." A loss of twenty years or more just for a fresh start was still bullshit, no matter how positively it was painted. Reed got the impression that the underlying subject at hand, though, was the impending capital punishment hovering over the other man.

"So uhh.. what about you?" Reed called a bit weakly. "You have a chance to appeal your charges right?"

"I'm working on it."

What was Reed supposed to say? From all he knew about Kearney and his killings, he didn't deserve to see the outside of a prison ever again.

"...I guess, as long as you don't commit any more crimes once you're out."

Kearney did not reply immediately. When he did, the sound of his voice had lost some of its previous warmth. "...I never said I was guilty."

"And I said 'dont commit any more crimes', not 'don't murder a shitload more people,'" Reed replied, turning defensive.

"Don't be disingenuous. It was implied," Kearney cooly stated.

The two of them reached the far end of the fenced run, then turned and proceeded back in the previous direction. Reed fell behind a bit, stealing a glance at Kearney; his calm demeanor, his relaxed but straight posture.

Sure, he was still a condescending prick, but he didn't seem all that..menacing. Reed quickened his pace enough catch up, then he spoke again.

"So then... you didn't do it?"

"Hm," Kearney hummed, the cuffs rattling around his wrists as his hands drew upward, to push his glasses up. "...I'd prefer not to give the gossip mongers any more ammunition if you don't mind."

Reed let out a huff of frustration. This guy was impossible. "Who the fuck am I gonna tell?"

"By my understanding, you're a lone wolf with no money," Kearney said plainly. "You're just the kind of person who would leak gossip to the press for cash."

"..fuck you," Reed spat, feeling his pulse beginning to pound in his temples. What right did this guy have to judge him? So, of course, he said the first damn words that came to mind.

"Your brother seems pretty convinced that you did it." 

Kearney stopped, turning to face the chainlink which stood between himself and the other inmate. "Excuse me?"

"He said that you did it," Reed repeated.

"...I'm sure he did," Kearney intoned, his eyes holding Reed's gaze in a steady way. "Gavin Reed- if you're so discomforted by the presumption that I may be a killer, why are you here? Can you answer that?"

Reed's anger ebbed slightly in the sudden necessity to think clearly. It didn't help that he'd been asking himself the same thing all along, and had still yet to come to any kind of real conclusion.

Kearney had a knowing smile. He filled in, in Reed's silence.

"Plenty of people in this institution are killers. You walk and work and sleep alongside them. The real truth of the matter is intrigue-- your curiosity is piqued. You've found a mystery in me and your desire to know the truth is the reason you keep coming back."

"..So you're not going to tell me yes or no?"

"I'm not."

"So then," Reed paused, wheels turning in his head, a smile slowly crawling over his features. "You're just trying to make sure I keep coming back, huh?"

Kearney blinked, his lips opening as though to reply, but not a word came from him. His gaze faltered, but the corners of his mouth upturned.

Holy shit-- that was right.

The man behind the fence began walking along again, slowly, waiting for Reed to follow. Reed took the opportunity to close a bit more space, so that only an arm's length remained between them.

"Your brother said something else," Reed began, a little grin that showed the points of his canines spreading across his features. He watched Kearney's head turn, his gaze tilting intently in his direction, stray waves of brown hair falling against his forehead.

"He said that you liked me," Reed stated this like it was both a dirty secret and an accomplishment. Then when he received a clear look of doubt, he decided to be more forthcoming. "Well, he said 'No wonder he likes you,' which is basically the same thing."

"I do," Kearney said simply, nodding and moving on. "What was Connor referring to when he said that?"

"He said I was a stupid asshole or something," Reed answered. Then, he processed everything Kearney had said. "Wait, did you just admit that you like me?"

"Yes," Kearney confirmed.

"...really?"

Now, Kearney narrowed his eyes at Reed. "Is your self worth really so low that you need this much affirmation?"

"What? No." Great, now he thought Reed was needy. Reed shrugged and turned himself around so that he was walking backwards. He could look at Kearney better that way. "I just didn't think liking somebody just for the sake of it was even possible in here."

"It's a rare treat," Kearney purred with another one of his secretive smiles. "Enjoy it." Reed nodded, his hands awkwardly reaching for pockets that he didn't have.

"Hey so..." He mumbled, then cleared his throat. "Are we good, you and me? I gave you three stitches, you gave me three stitches. So we're even?"

"We are," Kearney said softly. "Can you tell me, though, why exactly did my brother come to visit you? Wondering about it any longer might drive me mad."

"I guess he was pissed that I shanked you. He threatened me, hit me.." Reed laughed awkwardly to cover up the sting of resentment. "He was really driving the whole 'bad cop' shit home."

"Hmm." Kearney nodded his head, but said nothing at all. It left Reed wondering something all of a sudden: was the gash across his face strictly for revenge, or was it some weird form of.. jealousy?

"..I'd be pretty bummed too if I had family that could visit me and they didn't," Reed attempted to sympathize. Again, the 'serial killer' thing sprang to mind, making it more difficult.

For a moment, Kearney actually appeared grateful for the sentiment. Within the next moment, he set back to picking Reed apart.

"You have no family, then?" He asked.

"Nah" Reed crossed his arms as he spoke. "Parents divorced when I was like four or five. I never heard from my father again after that. And my mother more or less drank herself to death." 

Kearney nodded as he listened, but said nothing. That was fine, Reed wasn't looking for a shoulder to cry on over it.

"What about you?" He asked, though the long pause he received from Kearney told him that the man behind the fence still held a certain wariness about revealing personal information.

Even so.

"My parents are gone."

Reed's very first reaction was that of suspicion. How could he help it? Unfortunately, Kearney seemed to be able to see what Reed was thinking, and elaborated, if with a bit of disappointment.

"There was an accident, when I was very young," Kearney said. "My brother and I grew up in foster care."

Reed whistled and shook his head, voice pitched low, tone softened. "Sounds like a shit deal."

"I had my brother, so I got through it," Kearney said with a sigh, brushing it off. Of course, he didn't have his brother now, because the cop didn't want to see his murderous twin-- that's what Reed was getting out of it anyway.

"We're both alone now, I guess," Reed said, enough bitterness for the both of them fully evident.

"We were," Kearney commented, with a sly twinkle in the blue of his eyes. Before Reed could address what had been said, a chime over a loudspeaker announced the end to yard time. 

"Until tomorrow then, Gavin Reed." Kearney said, deciding to try his luck at the last moment. He raised his cuffed hands to the chainlink, laying them flat against the fence in welcoming.

Reed only hesitated for a second, then he swallowed down both his fear and his good sense, and brought his own hands up to meet the other man's. He felt the warmth from Kearney's palms, the gentle brush of their fingertips touching, then before a CO could notice, Kearney's hands dropped away.

The man on the other side of the fence turned and began toward the steel doors that led to death row. Before he could get very far, Reed called out to him.

"What, without a goodbye kiss?"

Kearney glanced back at Reed's words, looking over his shoulder, a smile curving his lips. As their eyes met, Reed gave the other man a poorly executed wink, blinking with both of his eyes.

Oh well. He still felt smooth.

Also– 

What the hell was he thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. All kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also follow me on social media for other content. I post a ridiculous amount of story threads and I usually have something that I update every week. :)
> 
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	5. Chapter 5

"What are you fucking thinking?" Manfred said for the umpteenth damn time.

"I'm thinking that I'm getting tired of listening to your shit," Reed called from his bunk, eyes focused on the lined paper resting atop his thighs. His fingers idly spun a ballpoint pen while he deliberated on what he wanted to draw.

"The guy tried to a slice your nose off your fuckin’ face," Manfred went on, probably working himself toward a red ice frenzy, "and then the first, THE FIRST, moment you see him again, you're trying to be pals with him?"

"You're wasting an awful lot of breath on something that doesn't effect you," Reed said with a shrug. "It's my business, not yours."

"It's everybody's business.” Manfred snarled, gesturing in exasperation. “Everybody in the yard can see you, on your little stroll with the killer."

"Oh yeah?" Reed bent himself out from his bunk, to peek over at Manfred. "Lots of people in here are killers. We eat and sleep and shit with them all the time."

Manfred pressed both of his palms flat against his face in exasperation. What did shitting have to do with this? What had Reed been smoking? Whatever it was, it wasn’t the shit he distributed, that was for sure.

"Buddy," he began again, speaking slowly to make sure it filtered into Reed's thick fuckin’ skull. "The people in death row are marked. Everybody wants a piece of them. If you associate with one of them, you're gonna be marked, too."

"Uh huh," Reed hummed. Speaking of marked, he had been sure that his lines used to be much more smooth and steady than how this drawing was coming out. He put down the pen and glanced at his own hands; his knuckles were so battered that the skin was a different color altogether. Even worse, when he held his right hand out flat, his fingers trembled softly.

"I didn't know you could draw.." Manfred uttered in sudden intrigue, poking his pale face into Reed's bunk. "Can I see that?"

"You're already seeing it, aren't you?" Reed hissed, shoving the whole notebook at Manfred in his frustration. "It's garbage anyway."

"No actually.." Manfred traced the jagged lines which were sloppily linked to form a geometric figure with some half-assed shading. "This looks really sick. My Dad is a famous artist, you know."

Without even asking, Manfred started flipping through the pages, curious to see what all Reed had drawn. No surprise- a lot of dicks. But also some really pleasing pictures. He tilted his head to one side while he studied each drawing, red-ringed, brown eyes moving back and forth over the pages.

"Hey I didn't say that you could-"

"Jeez, I wish I could draw like this." Manfred dolefully stated, seating himself at the edge of Reed's bunk, right by his cellmate’s side. "I used to try when I was a kid, you know. It was obviously because I was a kid and all kids like to draw, but also because my mom talked all the time about my dad, the famous painter. I thought, ‘maybe if I learned to draw well, he'd actually wanna marry my mom and come be a real dad,’ but I dunno’."

Manfred paused on a picture of an octopus, wistfully running his fingers along the twisting lines of its legs. "Yeah, obviously I sucked, though."

Reed finally yanked his notepad out of Manfred's grubby little hands and tucked it under his pillow for safekeeping. "Artistic skill isn't just something you get to have because your dad had it. It's a skill that you have to develop, dumbass."

The two of them were interrupted when another man came to stand at the open end of their shared cubical. He was a short, young guy with a nice build and skin slightly deeper in tone than either Manfred or Reed, skin that was heavily ink-marked and easy to admire.

"Reed here?" He asked bluntly. Reed recognized him from work but the guy wasn't much of a talker.

Reed poked his head out of his bunk, one hand shoving Manfred aside in the process. "Yeah."

The guy- what was his name again? He had a tough look about him, like more or less everybody in this place, but his eyes were soft, hardly holding contact for more than a few seconds. He reached into his orange jumpsuit, which was unbuttoned at the collar, showing the white hem of a tank top underneath.

Looking over his shoulder for COs first, the guy pulled out a very flat package of cigarettes, flashing it in Reed's direction. "You available?"

"Let's see what you're offering." Reed held out one callused palm, fingers beckoning for the cigarette package. It was tossed over with a quick motion, and he probed, raising it to eye level in order to find out what was contained: Three cigarettes.

Reed pressed the package to his nose and deeply inhaled the sweet, menthol scent, his eyes shutting in bliss. He shoved the package under his pillow moments later and growled the words, "You've got yourself a fuckin’ date, bud."

Reed crawled out of his bunk in order to seek out a quiet spot for this so-called date. The showers were normally his go-to, but that only worked when his buyers came from the same block. It was alright, though, because he'd recently learned that there was a spot in the library where the cameras couldn't see, and they had a whole hour before nightly counts.

Reed led his 'date' to a sheltered place between two library shelves, which were stacked high with archived newspapers. Even the lights were dim from how tightly packed the shelves were. Reed's hands fussed at the buttons of the other guy's orange jumpsuit, unfastening one, then another before the guy pushed Reed's hands aside in order to do it himself.

"I got it," he said, voice low. Reed braced himself against one of the shelves and got down on his knees.

This guy was probably straight and didn't want to make any more acknowledgment of his partner than he had to. Circumstantial bisexuality was a common theme and lonely desperation was as rampant as dick-swinging shows of dominance. It was difficult to feel human when one was dehumanized at all angles and one tended to either allow that to willingly make them into an animal, or seek relief.

Reed had decided from day one, it was good to feel human. 

He pressed his palms flat against the guy's thighs, rubbing gently as the other man produced his flaccid cock. The guy palmed it for a moment, willing it to awaken, but Reed's hands slid in to chase the other man's touch away. 

He relinquished control of his dick almost shyly, but from the moment he felt the heat of Reed's mouth, his tension slackened and one hand went to the shelf to help support his weight where he stood.

Reed spared the man an upward glance, finding his eyes already clenched shut and his head turned so that his face was tucked against the crook of his elbow to muffle any sound that came from him. 

This particular man had a very prominent foreskin, but the flushed tip of his cock peeked out nearly as soon as Reed set to work. Reed's tongue pushed underneath the tight skin, circling the cockhead while his hand kept a steady grip around the base. 

The man was somewhere else in his mind, eyes moving softly underneath his closed lids. He muttered against his arm, muffled, indistinct shit that Reed couldn't be bothered to hear. He caught the word 'girl' in there somewhere. 

That was how this went more than half of the time, with both the giver and receiver finding it more convenient to indulge the imagination. Reed was no different, because already he was entertaining those wild curiosities about his 'friend' on death row.

What did Kearney's cock look like? How would he react to Reed being kneeled before him just like this and taking him into his mouth? How would he taste and feel as Reed tongued and sucked him? Would those clear, blue eyes watch Reed work in interest, in aroused satisfaction, never once looking away? Would he enjoy it as much as Reed himself?

Reed drew back, spitting on the cock and smearing it with a few pumps of his hand. He took it into his mouth, tongue moving along the underside, lips and fingers tightly encircling it. He closed his eyes, finding Kearney just inside his mind, his jumpsuit splayed open to show the pale of his skin, the strength residing in the bulk of his chest, his cock jutting excitedly toward the offered stimulation of Reed's mouth.

Kearney's hands touched Reed as the other man's did, a firm palm guiding his head down so that he took the cock deeper into his mouth. He did so eagerly, allowing it to touch the back of his throat and slide down, his nose pressing into the tight curls of the man's pubes and holding it there for a moment before he drew back.

Reed's head bobbed with fervor, one palm cupping, fondling the man's balls while his other hand worked his rigid length, grip tight and twisting. Reed wanted to hear the sound of Kearney's moans when he came undone. He wanted them to chorus the fast, wet tandem of his mouth swallowing him down over and over. He longed for the smooth purr of Kearney's voice shuddering and crying his name in the way only Kearney did, always using both his first and last.

Instead, what Reed heard was a muffled grunt, and he felt his date’s dick twitch against the roof of his mouth. He had enough time to pull back and allow the man to cum on his face, thick spurts painting his cheek and chin. The guy took hold of himself and flicked his softening dick a few times against Reed's mouth for good measure, then finally he tucked himself away in easy satisfaction.

A word of thanks was muttered before the man made himself scarce and Reed wiped the mess on his sleeve. Tomorrow was laundry anyway.

Reed smoked the first of his cigarettes in his bunk after lights out, reflecting on how Kearney's fingertips touched his lips that one time. He wondered again if Kearney was thinking about him in the same way he that kept thinking of Kearney. He was also asking himself again- what the fuck was he doing?

Whatever. It hardly fuckin’ mattered.

The next morning, when laundry collection came around, Reed swapped the clothes he'd been wearing for the past week for two fresh jumpsuits which would have to last until this time next week. He snapped his name patches into place immediately, because he'd already gotten into shit for forgetting them twice before.

Laundry day was also commissary day, so after Reed made up his bunk, he drafted out a small list of supplies, based on what the old guy from the yard said he'd need for his tattoo equipment. He knew he wouldn't be able to afford everything, but.. being able to look and get a price estimation was a start.

At breakfast, Reed kept a low profile. He sat somewhere close enough to Manfred and his prison Daddy, Todd Williams, that the ABs didn't get any funny ideas. He noticed from where he was seated, though, that one of the Nazis had fresh ink, as made evident by the red swelling around the black-lined image on his milky skin.

The absolutely insane idea of nabbing the skinhead's already assembled tattoo gun came to mind while Reed shoveled powdered eggs and bland grits into his face. The image of dying on his knees with his throat slit followed shortly after, and that was where that whole plan ended.

Before breakfast was over, Reed chatted up one of the kitchen workers. He was a big guy, kind of dull really, but Reed had given him a hand job once in exchange for garlic salt, so it was an alliance worth maintaining. 

In a way, Reed was lucky that human contact was always in such high demand. The value of his "skills" was probably what kept most people so neutral toward him, so far enabling his lone wolf lifestyle. Well that and the fact that he knocked a Nazi out cold on day one, making it clear that he wouldn’t take shit lying down.

Reed went off to work as usual. The guy he'd blown in the library the night before didn't look at him or speak to him the entire time, which was both fine and to be expected. Reed dealt in intimacy, but he wasn't anybody's boyfriend. 

He was scarcely anybody's friend, either. In fact, it was wild how quickly he could swing between seemingly vulnerable acts, then giving people the cold shoulder or worse. So when he received the cold shoulder in turn, it just meant that someone knew the damn drill.

He finished work, had his cold, three-minute shower, changed into his other jumpsuit, then he grabbed the notepad where he'd made his shopping list and headed to commissary.

Manfred was already in line when he arrived, so Reed cut and stood with him. It wasn't because he wanted to spend time with Manfred, it was because he was slightly eager to get out to the yard. He thanked his lucky stars that Manfred was too busy looking over his prison Daddy's shopping list to chat.

When Reed made it to the canteen storefront, he checked his account balance, finding that he had roughly 15$. He then checked the price books for the items he needed, marking a number next to each item on his list. Splurging, he blew 3.00$ on a handful of ramen noodle packets, but God, he could really use some better protein in his diet.

The guy directly behind Reed in line ended up purchasing one of those summer sausages in plastic wrap, some packets of tuna, and a bag of flamin' hot Cheetos. Reed shot a sideways glance at the guy, trying to recall if he'd ever met him. He looked like he wasn't a day over nineteen, tall but lanky, and soft-spoken. He was fresh fish if Reed had even seen it.

Reed proceeded down the corridor and turned the corner, pressing himself against the wall and waiting for the fish to walk in the same direction. When the naive kid passed by without even noticing that he was being watched, Reed pursued, stealthily walking up close behind him. Once he was near, Reed kicked the guy in the back of one knee to knock him down, then he gave the kid a few extra kicks in the side for good measure while he was on the ground. 

The little fish didn't even have the heart to look up at his assailant as Reed robbed him of his foodstuffs, then went quickly about his own merry business, with only minor taunting.

"Tell your Mom I said thanks, prick," he called to the fish.

Reed returned his haul to his cubical, stashing each item in a different location, like some kind of rodent tucking garbage away for later.

From there, Reed quickened his pace to make it out into the yard. He needed a fuckin’ cigarette or else he was gonna claw his own face off. When he made it outside, the death row inmates were already out and about, and Reed strode over, trying to make less of a show of it so the COs weren't given excuses to be pricks.

Reed situated himself at the far end of the fenced corridor, leaning against a nearby cement wall. When he was sure that no guards were nearby enough to catch him, he lit a cigarette, face scrunching in bliss at the first draw he took from it. It was still between his lips by the time Kearney located him.

"You've been busy I see," Kearney called from his side of the chainlink, voice a curious purr. He nodded in Reed's direction. "Did you acquire that in the usual manner?"

Reed held the cigarette between his lips, sucking another long puff from it, so the lit end burned bright orange. His head laid back against the cement wall as he breathed out a curl of smoke. "You fuckin’ bet I did. Wanna share in my bounty?"

"I said before that I didn't smoke," Kearney said, shaking his head.

"And then you did it anyway." Reed grinned, taking a few steps toward the fence, so that he stood directly before it. He put his hands up, showing his palms. "Hey, it's all good this time. No stabbing, I promise."

The man on the other side of the fence was very subtle in his reply. He blinked as he gave his head one soft nod, and the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips while his steel blue gaze went from Reed's face to the cigarette poised between his fingers.

Reed smiled in an odd sense of satisfaction, glancing around to make sure the nearest CO wasn't looking their way, then he held his hand up to the fence, hovering the burning cigarette there in offering. Kearney bent slightly to bring his lips to the filter, his eyes closing, his lashes dark against the pale skin of his cheeks. 

When Kearney drew back, he turned his head to blow the exhaled smoke over his shoulder. Reed glanced at the cigarette, eyes going straight to the wet print left behind on the filter. He shoved it between his lips and took a puff, then intentionally licked his own lips after.

"So you must be very good at it," Kearney began anew, though his words left Reed in a clueless blank.

"At what?" He asked.

Kearney tilted his head, his own tone making it clear that Reed should've known what he meant. "...pleasuring other men."

"Oh yeah, guess so," Reed answered with a shrug. "I also enjoy it, so.. win win."

A soft furrow between the other man's brows silently spoke his doubt. Reed sure hadn't pegged him for a holier-than-thou type, but he brushed it off. 

"It's alright, really,” Reed clarified, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I'm always in control of it at least, so it's on my terms. I get to choose whether or not I do it, and who with. Plenty of the men here are attractive enough. Others are average. It is what it is."

Oh wait– This occurred to Reed as he noticed the way Kearney’s gaze was fixed on him in interest– was Kearney just fishing for wank material? Holy shit.

Reed took another draw from the cigarette, then breathed out with a grin, eyes shining in mischief now that he had an idea of why the other man had prompted this conversation. "You're pretty damn curious today," he said, a teasing tone coming out crystal clear. 

The sound of it brought a slight upturn to the corners of Kearney's lips.

"Intrigued," the cuffed man breathed, his line of sight slowly inching as low as Reed's chest, then drawing back up to his face. He made no attempt to be subtle, either.

Reed nodded. "Well.. sorry to say, I'm pretty sure a CO would notice if I tried to blow you through the fence." Not that he wouldn't absolutely delight in every moment, of course.

Kearney let out a titter at Reed's bluntness. "And I don't have anything to offer you, save for my company."

"You have.. answers." Reed flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette, holding steady eye contact with the other man. "Maybe I could finally get you to tell me the truth about your dastardly deeds."

"You're certainly persistent." There was an audible shift to Kearney's tone, accompanied by a sigh. Reed let out a huff, softly striking the chainlink at the other man's lack of humor.

"I'm messing with you, Jesus," Reed hissed. Then, after a moment of pause, his tone went back to smug playfulness. "..Hey, if I had half a chance though, I wouldn't charge you. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure is still an option." 

Their gazes met, Reed's twinkling, Kearney's veiled and neutral. "Was that what you were waiting to hear?" Reed purred with a grin and a cigarette between his lips.

Kearney's response was mild, his lips smiling in a soft way that didn't meet his eyes. "It's good to know, Gavin Reed," he said. It sounded exactly the way you’d expect any given write-off to.

"Well damn, that's a lukewarm ass response." Reed scoffed, pride dealt a blow. "Are you actually gay or..?"

Kearney's eyes narrowed behind the shine of his glass lenses. "My flirtation hasn't been indicative enough of that?"

"Yeah, you flirt, but then when I say that I'd suck you off, your response amounts to 'that's nice.'" Reed added a dismissive flick of his hand. "Way to knock the wind out of my sails, pal."

"Maybe I'm old fashioned," Kearney asserted, straight-faced. "I'd like to be married before I act upon my more base, animal urges."

"You're kidding," Reed said with one of those laughs that came out of him whenever he had no clue what else to do.

A pause and then at last came a smile. Kearney nodded, saying, "I'm kidding." Kearney's shoulders moved in a shrug and he spoke candidly. "However, Im not sure how I feel about your offer, given that it's framed as more of a free service than an act of passion."

"I don't really see the distinction," Reed said. In his mind, a blowjob was just a fuckin' blowjob.

Kearney went quiet again, his mind working over Reed's words and the apparent emotions they stirred, all hidden beneath impassive features. His blue gaze went elsewhere as he replied. "...trust me, there's a distinction."

"Okay well, I'm the one selling sex in prison, so I think I can decide for myself," Reed stated.

"Hm," Kearney hummed, nodding. Again, he hovered in extended silence, and then- 

"I'm obliged to point out that foster care is one of the largest pipelines for the sexual trafficking of minors, and to say that I'm entitled to my own opinion."

"Wh-"

Kearney put his cuffed hands up at Reed, the chains rattling with his movement. "There's nothing more that needs to be said on that topic, so whatever you're thinking, don't. I'm.. glad that you're comfortable with what you do, but I want no part of it."

"Ohh.." Reed just rolled with it, pausing long enough to suck another draw off his cigarette, then he said, "..we'll just have to have a real prison marriage, then. After that, we can discuss ‘acts of passion.’"

Kearney chuckled and breathed the word, "Indeed." 

Reed had a grin of swelling pride. He cast his finished cigarette to the ground and stubbed it beneath his heel, all while Kearney watched him, measuring him, considering him.

"So when did you know that you liked men?" Kearney asked, harmlessly curious.

"Ummm. Probably around puberty I guess, when sexuality started to become an in-your-face ordeal," Reed crossed his arms over his chest, eyes squinting in thought. "Classmates were suddenly really interested women but I remember being bored as hell with that and just thinking they were all obsessed and weird. Maybe a year later, I realized that I was actually the weird one.. As if I wasn't already angry enough at the world." 

Reed focused on Kearney's face, eyes moving hurriedly over the fine shape of his cheekbones, reaching the calm blue of his eyes. "How about you?" he asked.

"Hard to say.." Kearney began. "I suspect that I experience desire a bit differently than others. And for some while, I thought my longing for sameness was a product of narcissism."

"What do you mean, 'sameness?'" Reed asked.

"I mean that I'm drawn to things that are more similar to myself than different." He shrugged like it wasn't so complicated. "Men, in this case."

Reed nodded, not sure he got it. It was fine, because Kearney made an effort to move the conversation forward. 

"What were your previous boyfriends like?" Kearney asked. 

Reed’s eyes widened and he blew a puff of breath liked he was preparing to tell a sordid tale. "I had one who was kind of a gym rat, but also really feminine and high maintenance," he began. "He was always on about cardio and carbs or whatever. Everything I ever told him about myself was a lie, but if I had told him the truth, we never would have hooked up. I ended up kinda resenting him, so I ghosted one day."

This man was also one of the people who’d had their personal information stolen by Reed, so that was another reason.

"Was this the one who cheated?" Kearney queried, wanting to make certain that he had all of the details straight.

"Nah. This one was before that." Reed swatted his hand, though his expression quickly took on a pensive look as he thought back to his most recent ex-boyfriend. "The one that cheated was alright, you know, other than the cheating."

An image of his tearful visage shot through Reed's mind, his desperate voice screaming, 'Gavin please, stop!' as Reed muttered the words, 'I'm going to fuckin' kill you,' in the face of a complete stranger.

Reed swallowed, blinking the memory away.

"..He was outdoorsy and hiked all the time." Reed's tone was melancholy. "He worked in a bike shop– that's how we met. I kept going in just to see him and he caught on, asked me if I wanted to go for a ride with him.. there was a misunderstanding involved."

Reed let out a breathy laugh, laden with regret. 

 

"We hung out a bunch, flirting all the time, then we went camping together and it rained for the whole fuckin’ trip. That led to some really awesome sex in our tent, which was the.. consummation of our union or whatever."

"Sounds like you liked him," Kearney commented, the low sound of his voice somehow more delicate than usual.

"I did." Reed nodded. He probably loved him, actually. Love felt an awful lot like dependence. "He was always so kind and happy about life and the possibilities. When I was with him, even though I was completely opposite from him, I always felt like.. Maybe life really was beautiful or some such shit."

Kearney nodded, doubt clear on his face. "And then he cheated on you."

"Yeah. And then he cheated on me." Reed sighed, his head dropping for a moment, then he shook it off, upturning his gaze to meet Kearney's. "You ever go through any shit like that?"

"Cheating? If so, I was unaware."

Kearney, as per usual, hesitated to say anything further, but when Reed leaned in, in interest, he relented.

"Alright,” sighed the man behind the fence. “I dated a man who I met through some.. business. He was very deeply rooted in serious criminal activity, much to my brother's chagrin," Kearney recounted, his voice smooth and even.

"Oh yeah," Reed let out a laugh. "I'm sure the cop was pissed."

"He had no right to be, but yes, he was." There was a faint amusement in Kearney's words, but also resentment. "In any case, this man I dated was.. handsome, well-structured, perhaps rough around the edges, and oh so very stupid. I enjoyed it, though, because it constantly validated my own sense of superiority," he said with one of his sneaky smiles.

Again, Reed laughed aloud. "No offense but you're a fuckin’ prick."

"We have to take nourishment for our self-worth where we can find it, Gavin Reed," Kearney said with a lightness to his tone.

"Guess so," Reed relented, scoffing over it. "Anyway, go on. Tell me more."

"Alright," Kearney paused to consider his words, then went on as prompted. "Well, to begin with, I met this man when I was younger, perhaps nineteen. He was a bit older than me, and though he appeared very hardened, he had these wild, romantic notions of dying in a blaze of glory."

Kearney's eyes narrowed in focus, and Reed watched the way his mouth moved between sentences: lips slightly parted, the tip of his tongue tracing the edge of his teeth in idle thought.

"I was very practical and clinging to any source of stability that I could find, so it drove me crazy, of course." Kearney told the story like it was ancient history, or something that happened to somebody else, completely distant and withdrawn from it. "..and then, one day he finally managed to achieve his dream, though I would say that the death was very.. anticlimactic and predictable in its inevitability. Hardly the bang he wanted, I'm sure."

"Wait.." Reed blinked, bewildered that Kearney could be so composed. "..so he actually died?"

"He did, in a nasty shootout," he nodded. "I was very cross over it."

"Cross? As in angry?"

"Yes."

"But not like sad or anything?"

"Oh. No, not really." Kearney said, shaking his head without any remorse. He didn't fail to notice that Reed was taken aback, however, and so explained further. "I didn't exactly love him, you see. He was more of a means to an end... And then he was an end to a means, so I was cross. That's all." 

Reed still thought it seemed very callous and didn't know what the fuck he could say in reply. Thankfully, the man behind the fence picked up the slack.

"You're smart to have not gotten involved in that kind of life," Kearney said, the compliment almost sounding like it held some genuine warmth.

Reed gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes downcast like a chastised child. He could almost hear his mother’s voice, drunkenly slurring her words as she accused her only son of being an accident, a mistake, something that ruined her life. "...still ended up here."

"But you're alive. That was my point."

"Yeah, if you can call this a life I guess," Reed mumbled, reminded suddenly of the one thing which promised to make this hopeless existence feel more lifelike. He reached inside his jumpsuit, drawing out the list he'd made earlier. 

"What's that?" Kearney asked, head tilted in curiosity, eyes studying the item that had newly found its way into Reed’s hands.

"List of shit I need from commissary," Reed said, looking over the numbers he'd written before. He hadn't actually figured up the total amount, so he set to counting in his head.

"Hold on," He bid, adding numbers on his fingers. It took him a moment, but Kearney remained patient. Finally Reed's brows knitted and he dragged one hand through his hair in frustration.

"Jesus, it's worse than I thought," he hissed. "Two hundred something bucks. God, this shit is such a fuckin' rip."

As if making .60 cents an hour wasn't bad enough, the prices at the prison canteen were obviously inflated beyond what they would have been outside. It was like a goddamn arcade prize section.

"It must be quite a shopping list," Kearney commented, brows raised ever so slightly.

"It's shit I need to make tattoo guns and ink." Reed let out a deep sigh, reminding himself to count to ten before his mounting stress caused him to lose his damn temper. "I wanted to get started with that, but at the rate I make money.. maybe sometime next year, I guess."

Kearney nodded in understanding. Before he could say anything more, however, the chime which signaled the end of yard time blared over the loudspeaker.

"Fck!" Reed spat. He swore it had been maybe twenty minutes. "Has it already been a whole damn hour?"

"You came out a bit late today," Kearney reasoned for Reed, who clearly had lost track of the ability to do so.

"That’s right. Shit." Reed's tone softened in resignation and disappointment. "Alright then.. Guess we'll talk more tomorrow."

A smile slowly curved Kearney's lips and a single brow quirked upward. "What?" he purred. "Without a goodbye kiss?"

A laugh sputtered from Reed and he bent over from the force of it, one hand clenching the fence for stability. He straightened, gulping a breath before saying, "Maybe we can save that for our next date huh? I'd hate to go too fast for you, mister old fashioned."

Kearney nodded his head while his gaze went to where Reed's hand lingered, against the chainlink. He raised his cuffed hands there, splaying his fingers against Reed's own, the same as the day before.

This time, the touch remained for an extra moment.

"Fair enough, Gavin Reed," he said at last, drawing his hands away and turning to head back to his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. How do you all feel about Kearney? Do you think that he is charming, or does he seem dangerous? Is Reed in over his head? I'm curious to hear your takes!
> 
> All kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also follow me on social media for other content. =)
> 
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	6. Chapter 6

That night, while spending free time in his cubicle, Reed actively engaged Manfred in conversation, if only because he needed a little cooperative exchange.

"Hey, douchebag, you still pick up minute rice and tortillas from the canteen?"

"Depends," Manfred answered. He was sitting in his bunk sipping a coffee and fidgeting uncomfortably, waiting for lights out so that he could burn some red ice.

"Depends? Your prison Daddy ridin' your ass that hard?" Reed sputtered. "Do you have it or not, fuckass?"

"Yeah yeah, why?" Manfred hissed. He was always particularly edgy at this time of night.

"Let me bum some ingredients and I'll make you a lunch for to have tomorrow, too." Reed offered, peering up from where he was seated, with his orange jumpsuit peeled half-off and tied around his waist, and a gray tank top exposed from underneath.

Manfred adjusted, swinging his legs off the side of his bunk. "Anything beats those dry ass sandwiches," he said with a shrug.

"I always get ones with mushy tomato and soggy bread," Reed grumbled, ready to dry heave just thinking about it. It was the worst because his lunch time came during work, meaning that he was always famished from the hard labor and had no choice but to choke the food down.

"My bread is always stale."

"Worst is when the crust is cut off," Reed said. "My friend from the kitchen said that's what they do when the loaf is covered in mold."

"Fuck, okay stop," Manfred said, looking more pale and sweaty than usual. He probably would throw up, so Reed took mercy. "Yeah, I have the stuff. You know where I stash it. Take whatever."

"Hell yes." Reed jumped to his feet with an excited bounce, getting out his own food items, which he'd lifted off a fish earlier. He then set to rifling through Manfred's food stash; he always had prime items, even though he tended to nibble at food.

Manfred watched while Reed crushed up one of his ramen packets and the bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, stopping to eat a handful first. He combined them both inside of the Cheetos bag, then went to work tearing chunks off the summer sausage in order to add it to the mix.

"Hey, use some of my pickles, too," Manfred called from where he was seated. "They really add some nice.. nuance."

"Nuance?" Reed scoffed, decidedly being extra generous with the sausage. "Alright, gourmet ass rich kid."

"Fuck you," Manfred snapped. "Don't think I didn't notice that you're still hanging off the psychopath in the yard."

"Seriously,” Reed hissed, pointing a finger in Manfred’s direction, “if you don't get off my dick about it, I'm gonna knock your teeth out of your fuckin’ head, then your prison husband will come thank me for improving the head."

"Whatever. Say what you want, your prison wife is a serial killer," Manfred commented. He then laughed, leaning over the side of his bunk and adding, "or are you his wife?"

Reed just inclined his neck and smiled up at Manfred. "We haven't worked the details out just yet, but you'll be the first one to know when we do. I'll tell you all about it."

"You're sick," Manfred said, clearly unimpressed. "Do yourself a favor, Reed. Go into the newspaper archives in the library. I think you need a refresher on what this lunatic did."

“Pfft,” Reed scoffed, swatting his hand in dismissal. "Yeah yeah."

"I mean it, dumbass," Manfred called, his voice raised. "You were safe in Michigan back when he was active. I was here, I remember hearing about people disappearing every other week. I was fourteen fuckin’ years old when they showed his trophy cave full of human remains all over the news. I remember seeing the skulls of twenty something people, covered in bat shit and crawling with insects that chewed the bodies down to bones. And you're right in the age range of his victims, without any family to miss you."

"Hey," Reed threw his hand up. "Knock it the fuck off already or you can forget the pickles."

Manfred let out a sigh, for now accepting the one fact which was most plainly clear– Reed was a dumbass with a deathwish.

Reed added the minute rice to the mix in the chip bag, along with a generous shake of garlic salt, the ramen flavor package, and yes, the pickles which he'd tediously broken into bits. All the while, he nodded in satisfaction at Manfred's silence.

"That's exactly what the fuck I thought," Reed muttered, pouring hot water from Manfred's kettle slowly into his chip bag, to meld and cook the combined ingredients. He'd let them stew overnight, then in the morning he'd roll the blissful concoction into tortillas for a gourmet, prison burrito.

When Reed's lunchbreak came at noon the next day, the "homemade" burrito hit the spot, as predicted. It definitely helped to improve his mood, but it also somehow reminded him of Manfred's bullshit.

Later, in the yard, Reed made haste to the fence, where Kearney was waiting. The COs had calmed the fuck down, thankfully, and only gave Reed mild warnings as he walked up and down the length of the chainlink.

The conversation between Reed and Kearney had turned a bit lackluster, however. Reed didn't want to admit it, but all of that shit Manfred had spewed had finally wormed its way into his skull in order to gnaw away at him, like he was just another one of those insect-eaten corpses.

Kearney had obviously noticed the tone shift and adjusted, dropping his attempts at flirtation. He maintained the pretense that everything was normal for a while, then finally he addressed it.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, stopping to peer through the fence at the other man, blue eyes strangely steady. "You seem very.. distant."

"Yeah. It's just.. life in prison," Reed said with a shrug, his demeanor visibly guarded. "You know how it is."

"Oh, yes." Kearney nodded. "Just wait until you've been here for seven years or more."

Reed pressed the heel of his hands against his closed eyes. He was aware that Kearney was talking about his own experience, but even so, it was too much. "I don't even want to fuckin’ think about that."

Maybe it hadn't fully dawned on Reed yet just how long he was going to be here, doing the same fucking shit day in and day out, while waking up each morning at 6am, wondering if this would be the day someone slit his throat and left him to bleed.

Maybe that was why he hadn't seen fit to fear Kearney, because he honestly couldn't be any more afraid than he was day to day.

"..When are you eligible for parole?" Kearney prompted. His cuffed hands hung against the chainlink, his fingertips gripping the steel. Reed bent his neck in order to peer up at the taller man, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking elsewhere.

It was a perfectly normal question for one inmate to pose to another, yet Reed reacted to it with suspicion. Why did he care? What did it matter to him? "I don't know. Probably not for a while." It wasn't a lie.

Kearney nodded in understanding. His expression gave away very little, but there was a glimmer of something to be found in the blue of his eyes- Reed only caught a moment's glance of it.

"You need something to lift your spirits," Kearney suggested, yet he failed to elaborate.

The chime that ended yard time came soon after. Reed breathed a sigh and turned to head inside, waving over his shoulder in a half-hearted way.

He did need something to raise his spirits, but he doubted it was coming from Kearney.

Reed used his free time after dinner in the library, though tonight he wasn't blowing anyone. He went in to find a book on small electronic motors, so that he'd have an idea how to put his tattoo guns together once he had the items he needed. 

Knowing that it was somewhere in the future gave him something to focus on, something to hope for, and also something to distract himself from these persistent thoughts of Kearney.

From the book he found, Reed learned that he could easily use the motor from an electric shaver to the same effect as the one from a CD player. The electric shavers were also a bit cheaper, because they weren't considered to be as frivolous.

Understanding the way the motors did the job was easy enough, with a visual. Rigging up a tattoo gun was even less complex than stealing a car and Reed had gotten away with that once. Well, for a while anyway.

With nothing more to learn and three hours of night to waste, Reed was left debating on how he wanted to entertain himself. It didn't take long for the worms eating at the back of his mind to remind him of Manfred's suggestion from the previous night.

Reed wandered over to the shelf of newspaper archives, the same row where he'd blown that one guy. The papers were mostly in file folders, sectioned by the month and year. 

Reed was still in highschool back when Kearney was apprehended- was that the year he got expelled or the year before? Either way, with some thought, he pinpointed the year which corresponded with him being sixteen, then he tediously sorted through the papers by month until he found what he was searching for.

'Hawkwasp Killer in Police Custody,' the headline read. Reed swallowed dryly, pulling out the paper, which featured at least three different articles on the headline topic.

The first covered the story of the murderer's capture. Reed was a bit too impatient to read the entire body, so he skimmed– a young, uniformed officer, who was friend to the detective officially working the Hawkwasp case, arrested his own brother upon encountering suspicious circumstances. 

And then there was an image of the detective twin, R. Connor Kearney, standing in his police uniform, with a bleak, dead-eyed stare. Reed noticed that the guy hadn't aged a damn day since the picture was taken, though he must have been well into his thirties by now.

The second article was about the numerous murders committed by the Hawkwasp Killer and his modus operandi. The details were graphic, but Reed forced himself to take in every last, gruesome word– the Hawkwasp stole into his victim's homes at night, killing them in their sleep.

He often choked his victims to death, then mutilated their bodies, flaying them and leaving the empty husks behind at the crime scene. He transported the rest of their remains to a remote location: a cave where he stored the bodies, collecting them like trophies, thus earning his chilling nickname, Hawkwasp.

The third segment was in memoriam of the victims who had been identified and missing persons newly found, offering some sad semblance of closure. There were so many names. Ralph Williams. None of it meant anything to Reed. Dalton White. Leonard Bralt. Kevin Hilly.

He read it anyway, even if he knew none of these people. Kendrick Ball. Reed felt he owed it to them. David Smith. Robert "Dallas" Prickett. If Kearney really killed these people and Reed was going to enjoy a friendship with him, he deserved to have these names burned into his mind.

Jason Horton. Chris Cameron. Hayden Thompson. Joseph Strictland. Mark Roberts. 

Reed swallowed, eyes drawing across the images of the victims. Danny McLaughlin. Most were images of young men, smiling, posing with family, graduating highschool or college. Thomas Stewart. Harrison McNeil. All lives cut tragically short. Cole Anderson.

Reed stuffed the paper back into the file folder, more than done with reading it. His hands were shaking for reasons unknown to him. He left the library altogether, sure that a change of scenery and a distraction would help.

He went back to his cubical and to his relief, Manfred wasn't there. He was probably off with his red ice hustling Daddy, blowing him for a few rocks or some such shit.

Reed did a few pushups, counting them in his head, letting gruesome images and the smiling faces of the dead fade from his mind. He had a makeshift weight tucked out of sight, in the corner of his cubicle. When he was done with pushups, he dragged it out.

It was just a trashbag half-filled with water and tied inside a pillowcase, but it was heavy as hell and made for damn good workouts. Reed did curls and overhead tricep extensions, working his arms until every fiber burned and trembled, until his face and neck were wet with perspiration, and he could feel a lone droplet snaking a path down his back.

When he was done, he was nearly too exhausted to carry the weight back to its hiding spot, but he did. He then ate a few hastily torn off hunks of summer sausage before finally throwing himself down in his bunk. It wasn't even lights out, but he was tired. He wanted to close his eyes and leave this fucking place.

Reed shoved his face into his pillow and conked out just as quickly as his rapid breath slowed to a calm, steady pace.

Sometime, in the dark, early morning hours, Reed rolled over in his bunk, eyes moving back and forth under closed lids, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

In his mind, he'd wandered back to the neighborhood where he’d lived before his arrest. It must have come out of his desperate desire to return to his life. 

It was winter, cold and foggy, windy weather bringing in a thick cloud cover that blotted out all light from the moon. Bare trees trembled in the harsh, frigid breeze as Reed took a shortcut through a park where no streetlights reached.

There was a graveled, narrow bike path that cut through a cluster of tall trees, eventually leading underneath a railroad bridge that creaked and smelled damp. 

Reed glanced over his shoulder, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling as though he were being watched, though of course he saw nothing in the surrounding darkness.   
He quickened his pace, pulling on his hood and walking a bit taller, so that anything lurking would see that he wasn't to be trifled with. 

He crossed a bridge over a river which ran parallel to his neighborhood. This bridge itself was actually lit, though the sound of rushing water hid the soft patter of distant, pursuing footsteps. At the end of the bridge, Reed noticed a slowly following shadow, outstretched across the pale cement beneath his feet. He swallowed, but he did not look back, proceeding onto another bike path which followed the river into a dark, wooded area.

Both Reed and the shadow gaining ground at his heels strode toward the enveloping blackness, until the shadow faded into the dark and there was suddenly no remaining indication of how close the faceless stranger was following.

Between the constant hiss of river water and the wind blowing against Reed's face, he couldn't hear his pursuer’s footsteps and even if he had the guts to look back, he could hardly see the path directly in front of him, much less another human being walking at a slight distance.

Reed breathed a relieved sigh as he finally walked out into the quiet street of his neighborhood, dimly lit by street lamps and houselights. 

He still did not slow his pace, not until he was at the darkened front door of his basement apartment, jamming the key into the lock with shaking hands. He rushed inside, slammed and locked the door, reached for the lightswitch, flipping it and...

Nothing.

The light did not come. There was nothing but darkness and the quickened sound of Reed's breath as he froze like a hunted animal. He felt the uncanny chill of eyes staring him down through the obscuring shadow, someone watching him with killer intent.

Reed's hurried fingers shot to the lock on the front door. He clicked it open, preparing to run, but before his hand made it to the knob, he was ensnared by tight fingers around his neck, the iron grasp not just denying him breath, but inexplicably paralyzing his body.

Light slowly burned out of from nowhere as Reed was denied oxygen, as though a hundred soft, blue bulbs had burst to life as he was choked to death.

His limp body was dragged back against the strong frame of his attacker. The hands at his neck loosened, lowering him ever so gently to the floor. He could feel himself turning cold, unable to move, unable to blink, and yet he could see. And yet, he was still aware of his surroundings, his dire situation.

Reed stared blankly up into the face of his assailant: a man with skin like moonlight, and sharp, blue eyes that were nearly black from how wide his pupils had blown in excitement. He was dressed all in black, his frame silhouetted by the surrounding, blue glow.

R. Nathan Kearney.

Reed could only watch as his body was disrobed. His frantic gaze flickered here and there. The walls were lined with blood-spattered newpapers, listing off the names of a hundred victims. Kearney began reciting them aloud, in mockery.

"Jason Horton. Chris Cameron. Hayden Thompson. Joseph Strictland. Mark Roberts," Kearney purred sweetly, his voice warm and velvet in his pride.

He bent over Reed's body, hands smoothing along the expanse of his chest in twisted admiration. His lips curved in a subtle way, his voice coming out slowly, deliberately, "Danny McLaughlin, Thomas Stewart, Harrison McNeil, Cole Anderson."

There was a knife in his other hand and the point of the blade was brought down, pressed gently against the flesh beneath Reed's chin.

"Gavin Reed."

Upon the first cut, Reed snapped wide awake. His body shot upright in his bunk at such a pace, his head slammed into the bunk above him and he fell right back down flat.

"Fck!" He groaned, one hand clenching at the pain flaring through his forehead.

"You okay down there? Jesus fuck, you scared the living shit out of me." Manfred called down from his bunk, kicking his foot against the cot like Reed was a noisy, downstairs neighbor. He had a wild sound to his voice.

"Yeah, fan-fucking-tastic," Reed snapped, beating one fist against the bunk above him. He would ask why Manfred was awake, but the smoky, acrylic, burning plastic smell hovering in the air was indication enough. 

Manfred was up there burning rocks in the dead of night. He probably hadn't slept in days and Reed swore that if he was getting addicted to red ice by inhaling the fucking fumes, he was going to put his whole foot in Manfred's ass.

"I swear that shit is giving me fuckin’ nightmares,” Reed growled in a groggy, sleep-hazed voice. “Why don't you knock it the hell off?"

"Eat shit, Reed," Manfred hissed.

Reed huffed in frustration, hitting the bunk above him again before he laid back down and rolled over, cocooning himself in his blanket. Before he drifted back into unsteady slumber, he made an important decision:

He was done associating with R. Nathan Kearney.

Unfortunately for Reed, this ground his days back to a snail's pace once more. 

Work. Eat. Fight. Deal with Manfred. Counts. Shit smelling washroom full of druggies and Nazis. Pick a fish to rob. Run his smart mouth at a CO and instantly regret it.

Stressful. Lonely. Boring.

The first day in the yard, Reed just sat at the table where he'd played cards before. He watched Kearney walk back and forth, like a rabid dog in a kennel, until he stopped and faced the chainlink, eyes searching the yard for Reed.

Reed ignored it.

Another day went by. Reed kept his distance. Kearney stood at the fence, waiting, eyes probably following Reed wherever he went, not that Reed was paying attention.

That night Reed blew a guy in the showers. He didn't think of Kearney once.

Days went by. Anger management came and went. Reed had turned despondent. ABs jumped him yet again, the stubborn bastards. Reed mentally discarded everything he'd learned in anger management, fighting for his life with all of the rage boiling in his veins.

He'd gotten better at guarding his face in fights. His bruised ribs were suffering for it, though. His knuckles were skinned raw. He was so fucking pathetic, later on Manfred made him a cup of coffee, totally unprompted.

Manfred was watching Reed's downward descent, his dark, red-ringed eyes sympathetic, though he’d finally given up asking Reed to join his prison Daddy's drug ring. He could see Reed dwindling, just like any other lone wolf in the bitter wilderness. 

He wouldn't survive the winter. Maybe he didn't want to.

Manfred knew he couldn't say or do anything. He knew because words of warning, of concern, had fallen upon his own deaf ears so many times before. He knew exactly the mindset of determined self-destruction and he knew attempting to dissuade it was a waste of effort.

In the yard, Kearney no longer bothered waiting for Reed to come over. He'd given up, and that was good, that was perfect, that was what Reed wanted. 

Only now, he was the one watching the man from death row walking back and forth for an hour, alone. So who had really moved on?

Commissary day came back around and that tiny spark of light brought back some of Reed's vigor. He'd made some edits to his shopping list and he wanted to see if there were any other substitutions that he could make for the sake of pinching his pennies.

Reed waited in line, then finally came to the canteen counter. He asked to check his balance, as usual, only to balk when the inmate working the counter read off an unexpected number. 

"$268.50."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did the plot twist grab everyone's attention in this chapter? How are you all liking the story so far? Either way, thanks for reading, everyone!
> 
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	7. Chapter 7

"...wait, what?" Reed shook his head, dumbfounded at the amount that had been read off to him "Nah dude, I think you brought up the wrong account."

He repeated his prisoner ID number back to the guy at the counter, but very slowly. The guy, after putting it in again, shrugged and repeated the same unbelievably large amount in Reed's account.

"How in the fuck..?" Reed uttered in his baffled state. He combed one hand through his hair and started over. "Okay, where did the money come from?"

He was thinking that it was a mistake. Somebody else had transferred their money into the wrong account and they were bound to shank him over it, especially if he spent it.

"I can't see where the transaction came from," the guy at the desk answered. "It came through five days ago."

Could it be? Was this the pick-me-up that Kearney had been referring to? 

"So are you buying something or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Reed said, picking out his usual foods, as well as a necessary splurge-- a box of those pink snowball cakes. He could easily afford everything he needed for the tattoo equipment now, but he couldn't be hasty. He had to be sure of where the money came from.

With his haul in hand, Reed looked around, searching for Manfred's pale face in the gathering of people waiting in line. He'd just finished making his own purchases and was headed back to their cubicle, when Reed came to walk at his side.

"Hey, Manfred," Reed uttered, clutching his food against his chest. "...I think Kearney might have transferred 200$ into my canteen account."

"Damn," Manfred laughed automatically. "I guess that settles the debate. You're the prison wife."

"Fuck you!" Reed snapped, letting out a huff of exasperation. He pushed his anger aside out of necessity. "..What now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I fuckin' do?" Reed growled with wide gesture, nearly dropping his ramen packets to the ground. "I took your advice and stopped talking to him, but now he's sending me money."

Manfred paused in something that could almost be mistaken for thought. Then, finally he shrugged. "You don't have a better source of funds. Do what ya' have to."

"Wow," Reed snorted. "What happened to the cave full of bodies, the skulls, the bat shit and whatever else? You sure changed your fuckin’ tune as soon as money was involved. I was kinda hoping you'd be my voice of reason here."

"That's what I'm trying to be," Manfred said like this wasn't a total change of heart. 

"You've got no hussle and no friends, and a guy behind a fence wants to give you money for apparently no reason. My own Dad has never even sent me 200$ at one time. Sure, Kearney's dangerous, but so is dealing contraband."

"Ughh man," Reed's head fell back. "This means I have to apologize to him. I fuckin’ suck at apologies."

"That's because you're a stubborn asshole and you don't like to admit to being wrong," Manfred said with a shit eating grin as they reached their cubicle. "And you're not good at lying, so you can't even apologize insincerely."

The two of them stashed their goods and headed out to the yard. Reed carried a plastic wrapped serving of coconut snowballs, though it wasn't for him.

He went directly to the death row fence and stood there like a bad boyfriend that had been locked out of the house, and was now woefully standing on the front lawn, begging for forgiveness.

Kearney's first glance in Reed's direction was understandably cold and scornful. He slowly made his way to the fence, posture as strong and straight as a disappointed authority figure despite the handcuffs and ankle chains.

He didn't give Reed a chance to have the first word, speaking up immediately himself. "So you finally noticed my gift, I see... Surprise."

"I did notice." Reed swallowed, gray eyes downcast. He could still feel Kearney's stare on him like a weight. "I brought you some snack cakes from commissary though. Maybe if you have a sweet tooth, this will smooth things over? Come on, these are the best ones."

Reed pressed the package through the chainlink, holding the clear-wrapped, pink cakes there in offering. Kearney glanced at the item, then back at Reed.

"But I paid for them?" He asked, unimpressed.

"No. I had SOME money of my own," Reed insisted. "I splurged to get these. It's a genuine return gift."

Again, Kearney considered it. The look on his painfully straight face said, 'Not a chance. Go to hell.' The hurried way his cuffed hands went to the fence to yank the cakes away from Reed said otherwise.

"...you're right, I do have a sweet tooth." Kearney uttered like he was admitting to a shameful weakness. Reed smiled, thinking everything was gonna be fine now; it was premature.

"However, this doesn't smooth things over. Not even close to it," Kearney stated, voice utterly cold and dismissive.

Kearney stuffed the cakes into his jumpsuit, then turned to continue walking. Reed followed along, doing that stupid nervous laugh of his because he didn't know what else to do or say.

"..What are you just gonna ignore me, then?" Reed's tone was almost amused as he asked this, treating Kearney's behavior like it was a bad joke.

Kearney was dead serious.

"You cannot be for real right now," Reed said, still walking parallel to Kearney. He hit the chainlink with one hand- not enough to attract the attention of a CO, but enough to show his budding frustration. Kearney did not respond. He didn't even glance Reed's way.

"Seriously?"

Reed honestly was baffled by this response. He didn't know how to deal with it, how to reply to it, not even how to process it.

"Hey, come on, I said I was sorry," he groaned. Kearney still didn't acknowledge him, but tilted his head in a curious way. Wait, Reed had said he was sorry right?

Yeah, yeah, of course he had.

An hour passed by and yard time came to an end. Reed's attempts at regaining Kearney's attention failed entirely, and the man on the other side of the fence strode back to the death row cell block without a word.

Reed heaved an angry, exasperated sigh, kicking the damn dirt and spitting the word, "Fck!"

Over the next three days, Reed received the same, endless cold shoulder. Every day when yard time came, he'd walk the length of the chainlink, trying desperately to prompt a response from Kearney. 

He'd gotten utterly dependent on his anger management techniques to avoid spilling vitriol at the other man. He'd never regain Kearney's friendship if he started flinging insults and hatred. Of course, it was difficult to remember that when he was angry.

But it was easier to bite his tongue when he thought back to his nightmare, and the sight of Kearney bent over his corpse.

Reed eventually just paced in silence, sure that this was the most patient he'd ever been. That didn't mean that he possessed even an ounce of tranquility on the inside. If anything, he was seething and on edge more than ever.

On the fourth day, Reed's temper finally broke free. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn't at Kearney.

It was early, roughly 6:30 am, which certainly wasn't helping, because nobody in prison got out of bed on the right side. Reed was in the bathroom, bent over a countertop in front of a mirror that stretched the length of the wall. He was attempting to shave, before his unkept stubble turned into an even more unkept beard.

All the while, Manfred was perched astride the countertop, while a big man named Todd Williams also hunched over the counter to shave, draped uncomfortably close to Manfred all the while.

Reed tolerated it for a good, long time. In fact, he was in the process of rinsing his face, when he saw from the corner of his eye, Williams's big hand rest upon Manfred's thigh. 

That was when he fuckin’ lost it.

"Faggots," he snapped, blurting the word in pure bitterness, without an ounce of thought. 

Williams's head turned in Reed's direction like he'd actually misheard. Of course he was doubting what Reed had said, because he was the boss bastard of their cell block; people rarely looked at him the wrong way, much less hurled slurs at him with brazen disregard for their own safety.

Manfred, on the other hand, knew exactly what had happened and was sitting there wide-eyed, with a look of 'Reed what the fuck are you doing?'

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Williams growled, placing his razor aside and wiping his face with a towel. He didn't raise his voice immediately, but there was still a sound of grave danger to it.

"Oh, sorry," Reed hissed. It wasn't an apology. "That's how people talk to us on the outside. Must be nice for straight men to be gay when it's convenient, without facing any of the consequences."

"The only one who’s about to be facing consequences is you," Williams said in that same low, dangerous tone. Manfred was perched on the counter still, softly shaking his head, eyes trained on Reed.

Reed had seen Williams slam dunk an AB to the cement, knocking him out cold before wailing on him anyway, leaving him half-dead, with his face broken beyond repair. So Reed had no doubt that Williams meant what he was saying. 

Even so, Reed refused to be a sniveling little bitch about this. Running your mouth was something you had to be dedicated to. If you wanted to run your mouth, you couldn't tuck your tail immediately after, or everybody would see you as weak.

When Williams took the first steps toward Reed, Reed immediately squared up like he meant to fight for real. It gave Williams pause, because he was used to slapping people around with hardly any resistance. 

At Reed's show of willingness to scrap, Williams breathed the words, "I think you need to be taught a lesson."

For a big man, Williams could move with incredible, rage-driven quickness. He put a fist into Reed's center before Reed could properly block it. He still tried, but then once his hands were down, Williams grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back into the nearest wall.

From there, Williams landed another white-knuckled punch to Reed's face before Reed shoved him back, and squared up again, not actually daring to make any swings of his own.

His eyes went to the guys approaching from behind Williams. They would get involved the moment Reed threw a punch, if Williams so desired, and Reed was well aware, because this wasn't the first time he'd taken a beating from these exact guys.

It was just the first time that Williams himself had decided to be the one kicking Reed's ass.

Williams came in once more, and broke Reed's defense yet again, pushing him tight against the wall and slamming one punch after another into Reed's gut.

Reed had the breath knocked out of him and his head was being knocked against the wall at his back again and again. It was starting to look like Williams was intent on beating him to death. His will to only defend himself was fading, while his want to lay hands on this bastard was increasing.

But then Manfred interrupted. "Hey, hey," he called, coming over to stop Williams mid-strike. Manfred had waited just long enough that Williams was a bit winded from the punches he'd thrown so far. William was strong and fast, sure, but he didn't exactly have a high level of stamina. So when Manfred came over, Williams was red-faced and breathing heavily.

"Let me deal with this punk," Manfred growled, scornful, dark eyes looking on Reed standing there with his bloodied mouth and raised fists like he was less than garbage. 

"He bunks with me. Nobody's more tired of his shit than me."

Williams considered it. There was still plenty of anger in the pinch of his face and in his bloodshot, blue eyes, but he eventually stepped away with a gesture. "Don't you dare go easy on him," he breathed before turning to finish shaving.

When Williams walked away, Manfred shook his head at Reed, somehow let down, disappointed. "What do you think you're doing?" He hissed, not raising his voice too much, for the fear of attracting COs.

Manfred slapped Reed's raised fists in mockery, knowing Reed wouldn't hit him. "You can talk shit but you can't fight back? What kind of bitch are you?"

Reed stopped, letting his guard down entirely. When he did that, Manfred let out a scoff and threw a punch that landed square in Reed's jaw, snapping his head to one side. 

Williams kept an eye on the exchange from where he stood at the counter, judging whether or not he felt Reed had been beaten well enough while Manfred punched him again and again, all while Reed simply allowed it.

He understood well enough that this was Manfred's way of doing him a favor.  
By the time they made it back to their cubical, Reed looked little better than roadkill and finally Manfred was able to speak honestly.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" He hissed, voice tight in his throat. "I don't think I've ever met someone as stupid and set on dying horribly as you."

"Fuck off.." Reed mumbled, swiping a trail of blood from his chin. His tongue was probing around inside his mouth to make sure all of his teeth were still intact. He was certain one had been knocked hard enough to bleed.

"Seriously?" Manfred's arms were hanging at his sides. "I just saved you from being beaten to death and that's what you have to say?"

"Its just a waste of time and effort," Reed muttered, slouching at the edge of his bunk.

"Well that goes without fuckin’ saying."

"At this point, I don't give a shit," Reed snapped with a wide, violent gesture. "I'm not here to make people like me or even tolerate me. Fuck them, fuck all of them."

Manfred had his arms folded and his head fell back in aggravation. "Christ, is this more of your mommy didn't love me shit? You gotta move past this. Mommy didn't love any of us, you dumb sonuva bitch."

Reed scoffed bitterly. He was seriously regretting telling Manfred anything about his former home life. "I tried to befriend a serial murderer and even he ditched me. Top that douchebag."

Manfred finally nodded in understanding, like the pieces had suddenly fallen into place. "So this is about getting blue-balled by Kearney?"

"What?" Reed's head snapped up, prompting a cringe from Manfred. "Fuck off. He didn't blue-ball me. We weren't even friends, much less fuck buddies."

"...you happily admitted to being his prison wife," Manfred intoned, sure that Reed was deluded. He breathed a sigh, grabbing a box of tissues that they typically used for beating off, then he sat next to Reed on his bunk, attempting to clean up his face.

"Look, you gotta get it together," Manfred uttered like this was a sincere plea. He was wiping some of the blood from around Reed's mouth but he didn't exactly have a gentle touch. "There's someone here who’s been trying to help you this whole time-- me. So fuck Kearney."

Reed didn't say anything. When Manfred finished, he stood up in order to toss the bloodied tissues into the wastebasket, then he turned back to Reed, awkwardly giving the other man a reassuring pat.

Reed looked up with a squint of confusion. "Did you seriously just pat my fucking head?"

"Whatever." Manfred shrugged, turning aside and crossing his arms again, his fingers fidgeting all the while. He immediately unfurled his arms to gesture in Reed's direction. 

"Just keep your head down. If a CO sees you’ve been fighting again, they’ll throw you back into solitary. I'm going to the mess area before breakfast is over."

Reed did just as he was instructed. He kept his head down. It wasn't like he had a reason to keep it up. 

Breakfast, head down.

Work, head down.

Lunch, head down.

Bus ride, head down.

Shower, head down.

Yard--

Reed trudged up to the fence which kept the death row inmates contained, hanging his hands against the chainlink. He didn't walk, or speak. He just stood, letting out a sigh, dropping his head forward and closing his eyes.

A few minutes passed in silence, until slowly, a soft rattle of chains approached the place where Reed stood. He didn't raise his head to look and see who was there. Kearney would just ignore him and anybody otherwise might put him out of his misery.

"What happened to your face?"

Reed didn't move, and to his surprise, he had yet to forget the smooth purr of Kearney's voice; so soft, so calm.

"What do you even fuckin’ care,” he bitterly mumbled in reply.

The chain between Kearney's wrists clinked and the fence shifted as he pressed his fingers through one of the diamonds of woven steel. His fingertips tucked beneath Reed's chin, tilting his head up, so to better observe his battered face.

Reed sharply drew away from even that slight touch, violently slapping the fence in rebuke. "Hey, keep your fuckin' hands off me!"

Kearney hardly flinched. He let his cuffed hands fall back to their stationary position and he peered at the angry man on the other side of the fence, impassive, cold, perhaps still angry himself.

"Very well," he breathed. "It may please you to know, however, that today marks the end of our interactions being temporarily suspended."

"Uhh," Reed rubbed his temples. He had a terrible headache and it certainly wasn't helping him understand this man's language. "What are you talking about?"

"You ignored me for several days," Kearney explained. "So I cut you off for the same amount of time."

"Right. The 'tit for tat' shit again." Reed grumbled, still pissed, even as he was reminded that all this was ultimately his own fault. 

"Yes," Kearney spoke lowly, eyes very clearly wandering across the bruises and swollen areas of Reed's face which were now visible to him; the deep purple hues at the inner corner of one eye, the red swelling and dried blood on his lip, and the puffiness at one side of his jaw.

"The only difference was that you should've realized why you were being ignored, whereas I had no idea." His sharp, blue eyes drifted to make contact with Reed's own. "And speaking of-- would you care to enlighten me?" 

Reed froze. His mind went back to the newspapers, the numerous names of the Hawkwasp's victims, the nightmare-- he knew the reason exactly.

"Nobody has to think this long, unless they're thinking up a lie, Gavin Reed," Kearney growled in a strict tone, like it was a warning. His jaw clenched in some kind of emotional reaction, and he went on. "..That's something my foster mother used to say. And she was never wrong. So?"

"Fine," Reed spat, flinging his arms out at his sides. "I was afraid."

Kearney's eyes immediately narrowed like he was debating the legitimacy of that answer. To his knowledge, of course, Reed had never seemed afraid.

"You mean that you were afraid of me?" Kearney questioned, seemingly baffled. "What could I possibly do to you?"

"You cut my face!" Reed hissed, pointing to the glaring, red mark across the bridge of his nose.

"Because you cut me first," Kearney fired back, calm and astute.

"Just-- tell me you didn't do it," Reed uttered, his voice rough and pinched, his palms coming up and pressing together beneath his chin. He made deliberate eye contact with the other man as he spoke. "Tell me that you didn't do any of it."

"Any of what?"

"The fucking murders, you prick!" Reed's volume jumped upward. Kearney knew precisely what he meant. What else could he have been talking about? "The bodies in the cave, all that shit. I really need you to say that it wasn't you, that you were falsely accused, something!"

"...I can't do that," Kearney breathed, something in his eyes vacant, depthless.

"..fine." Reed felt like he was speaking through clenched teeth, the muscles of his jaw had pinched so tight. He reached up to grapple the chainlink standing before him, fingers squeezing hard. "Then tell me that you're a sick fuck and you did all of it."

Kearney shook his head immediately, denying this request. "No."

"Come on!" Reed hit the fence, frustration bounding upward. "This isn't about curiosity anymore. It's not a tantalizing mystery, it's people's lives. I'm not entertained by that, so for fucks sake, show me some mercy here."

And Kearney, that serenely calm, ever-thinking bastard, just tilted his head in a curious way, so the shadows playing across his face highlighted the fine shape of his cheekbones, and those dark brown waves splayed against his forehead.

His cold eyes studied Reed as he contemplated his pleading, then his tongue wet his lips before he spoke. "You said that you were afraid," he stated. "If you'd like, I can help alleviate your concerns."

"Okay well, yeah!" Reed made a broad gesture. "Alleviate away."

"Without admitting or denying anything either way, I can remind you of my desire to appeal my sentence. I don't relish the idea of dying in here.." He paused, looking Reed in the eye with some visible sincerity. There was also a troubled furrow to his features that appeared for an instant before it smoothed back into neutrality. "Killing somebody while incarcerated stands to make it very difficult for my lawyer to convince others of my innocence. Does that make sense to you?"

"It makes sense." Reed sighed, relenting but disappointed. "It's still not the answer I wanted."

"..try to understand, Gavin Reed," Kearney spoke slowly, reasonably. "My discretion is for my own protection, and while I like you very much, I doubt that I could trust my life in your hands. Is this fair?"

It didn't help Reed in his helpless grappling, no matter how logically it was laid out. "I guess," he grunted in a half-hearted way.

"You know what, why don't you think it over," Kearney suggested. "Tonight, while you're lying in your bunk, reflect on this relationship of ours and on whether or not you can tolerate being friends with me, with the possibility that I could be-- how did you put it? A sick fuck."

Kearney paused, the corners of his lips curving upward in seeming good humor. It made Reed avert his own eyes in vague embarrassment.

"If you think you can, in fact, put that aside," Kearney went on, "..Then come and visit me tomorrow. I should like to get back to building our friendship, minus all these silly games we've been playing."

Kearney shrugged, presenting the alternative. "And if you can't put it aside, then don't come at all. I won't begrudge it, should that be your choice. What do you say?"

Reed's eyes slowly wandered back up to Kearney's patient visage. He breathed the word, "Alright," then dropped his stare lower, to Kearney's cuffed hands. The skin of his wrists was chapped from being in restraints every day, but his hands looked much softer, elegant.

Hardly the hands you'd expect to find, choking the life out of you.

"Also, thank you for the cakes," Kearney said, tilting his head to one side, in the hope of meeting Reed's line of sight. As soon as he made eye contact, he went on. "They were delicious, you were right."

Reed smiled, unable to help himself. It faded away very quickly, however. "..right," he mumbled awkwardly, reaching up to fold his hands behind his neck. Kearney's eyes flickered to Reed's chest as he did, but quickly returned to his face.

Reed let out a sigh. "On that subject, I um.. Look, I don't know if I can accept your money. It doesn't feel right somehow, after what I did."

"Oh," Kearney uttered, eyes shining behind his glasses. "So then you didn't assume it was just my way of manipulating you into talking to me again?"

"Hm," Reed chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Cute that Kearney was joking about being a manipulative bastard, when in fact, Reed knew better in this instance. 

"Well, nice try but I noticed that you sent it before I stopped talking to you."

Kearney nodded, genuinely smiling, though it was soft and subtle. "That's good to hear. I was worried that my motivations would be misconstrued." He paused in thought, tongue tracing the edge of his teeth as his lips parted.

"Keep the money, Gavin Reed," Kearney said, voice low and delicate. "Purchase the items that you require. Then, perhaps one day, should the chance arise, you can repay me with your tattoo services." 

Kearney let out a soft titter and added, "You can make a second mark on my skin to keep the other company." As he finished, Kearney gave the other man a sly wink. Reed didn't have ample enough bruises to hide the way his face burned red in response.

A soft, breathy laugh came out of Reed, and he bent his neck, resting his head against   
the fence. "Thank you. I mean it."

"I know." 

A calm, contented silence fell between them, but it lasted only a few short minutes before the chiming loudspeaker interrupted them.

"Ahh fck!" Reed swore. His hands went to the fence, tightly clenching the wire like if he held on tightly enough, he could stay right here. He didn't know why, but in this bleak existence, apparently only this one man's company offered reprieve. Reed couldn't explain why that was.

Kearney glanced at Reed's hands on the fence, work-callused and battered. "Gavin?" He breathed, tentative, his blue eyes meeting the gray of Reed’s own as he raised his head to listen.

"Can I touch you?" Kearney asked.

Reed gave no reply, but knowing what the other man was asking, he flattened his palms, unfurling his fingers against the chainlink, welcoming Kearney's touch without words.

Kearney smiled in quiet satisfaction, bringing his cuffed hands to the fence to savor this one moment of positive human contact.

As their hands remained together, Reed felt something like a clench in his chest, an ache. He considered going to medical after this, but as soon as Kearney's hands were taken away, the feeling was gone.

He recognized this feeling and he feared it, because he knew that it would render him helpless, he knew that it would make him foolish. 

He knew, because he remembered.

He'd succumbed to this once before and the fear of losing it was what had ultimately guided him to this very time, place and circumstance.

He knew, also, that it was already much too late to turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I'd been working on a story commission and just couldn't find time for it, but now that my commission is finished, things should go a lot faster. Thanks for hanging in there, friends. You all have my love and gratitude.
> 
> Here a reminder that this story started as a twitter thread, then it made its way here. If you like it, I would highly encourage following my twitter for other content. My Tumblr is also an option. See you all there!
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)   
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	8. Chapter 8

The picture should've been simple enough: a minimalistic bicycle with lines, circles and soft curves. Reed was having the usual trouble keeping his lines perfectly straight, however.

He sighed, setting the pen aside, then he spread his fingers to stretch them, and tightened them back into loose fists. His hands always seemed to have a very slight tremor to them these days. Punching shit so often surely wasn't helping, but Reed wondered, was the hard labor he did each and every day also to blame for the tired tremble he was experiencing? He supposed that if he could make good money doing tattoo work, then he could afford to switch to an easier, lower paying job.

Imagining his future, even in prison, suddenly wasn't quite as bad, with the reassurance that he'd be able to do something he'd been dreaming of for so long. The notion of being surrounded by skin, all adorned in his work, shot a rush of excitement through his frame.

He'd make decent money and he'd gain at least a reasonable degree of respect with a valuable skill to offer, other than blowjobs.

The gray of Reed's eyes went to the image that he'd scrawled on the lined notebook paper. It was a bicycle, because he had been thinking of his ex boyfriend, Jude.

He'd been thinking about the last time he'd fallen in love.

Reed first met Jude when he went in to the bike shop where the other man worked, in order to purchase his first ever bike. It was ridiculously embarrassing because he did not know shit about bikes, and that coupled with his immediate attraction to the other man made for a very awkward experience.

And yet, Reed couldn't stop finding reasons to go back. Soon enough, his bike was decked out with enough fancy additions for an Olympic cyclist, yet Reed hadn't even learned to ride the thing.

He knew perfectly well that the whole ordeal was foolish and that he was wasting money unnecessarily, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't tell himself no. He was fixated on the feeling this other man gave him, something positive yet suffocating, something Reed couldn't back away from.. and God, that was just the initial infatuation. 

Then Jude invited Reed on what would be their first date: a trail ride where Jude learned just how much of a hopeless idiot Reed was. He'd sunken so much of his food money into that stupid bike and couldn't ride it to save his life.

"So all this time, you didn't even know how to ride a bike.." Jude had said to Reed on their date, sweet and sympathetic, tending to this other grown ass man with scraped knees. He had a smile on his face at that time. "You were just coming in to the store to see me."

"Worked out, didn't it?" Reed answered with a laugh. 

Reed's fingertips traced the lines of the image in his notepad. He still thought of Jude often, even while trying hard not to. He missed him and wished like hell that he'd one day get the chance to see him or hear from him again, ut after what happened.. no. Never again. He knew that.

Reed flipped to a new page in the notepad, the desire to continue drawing strong enough to keep the shake in his hand from stopping him. He could stand to grab some reference materials from the library at some point, though.

While his pen moved across the paper, Reed thought on his situation, as Kearney had suggested. Reed carefully considered the victims of the Hawkwasp killer, the graphic descriptions of their brutal deaths, and the collection of bodies hidden in some awful cave.

Worst case scenario– Kearney was a complete psychopath and did all of it. Maybe he also wanted to kill Reed as well, though Reed doubted it. Kearney's logic around his appeals and trying to maintain the look of innocence actually stacked up really well.

There was also Manfred's own advice: Reed stood to gain from this friendship, and the safety measures which stood between himself and Kearney definitely minimized the risk.

The one and only real problem was exactly that which Kearney had already presented: could Reed stand to befriend a man who was potentially a sick fuck? 

Did it spit on the graves of all those victims for Reed to offer their killer the creature comfort of simple friendship? Was it the responsibility of every human being in this world to help enact the punishment of sick, evil monsters by shunning them? 

Kearney was already imprisoned and awaiting execution. There was nothing more severe that could be done to him, and Reed doubted his friendship could alter the weight of that, one way or another.

God, he shouldn't have wanted this. There shouldn't have been any necessity for him to think it over at all. 

But he did. He did want this. And by God, he was already in prison, he'd already been stripped of every right, every freedom. What good did it do him to go on pretending to be righteous? He owed it to himself to reach and grab at anything that stood to offer him even a shred of fucking happiness, even if it was friendship with a man who was very possibly a sick fuck.

He didn't care any longer. He wanted what he wanted. Maybe in the future, he'd be given reason to change his mind. But not tonight.

Reed succeeded in making his final decision, all before lights out was even called, so   
when it was time for bed, his mind was peacefully unoccupied by moral dilemmas. 

Even so, he reflected on how he'd been instructed to think of Kearney tonight, while he laid in his bunk. He'd agreed to it, so he supposed it was best not to let his friend down. 

These thoughts, however, required several tissues and a handful of lotion.

The next day, Reed went to request an occupational change at the earliest opportunity. His position was highly sought after, so he figured it would be a quick swap.

He hadn't really considered what job he wanted as a replacement, however. The list of potential occupations was long, and he was seated awkwardly at a desk meant for school children while he read over it.

And then, after several minutes of reading and deliberating, he noticed that under 'Janitorial,' there was a listing of the cellblocks. A. B. C. D. SHU. DR.

Reed's mind shot, in boundless excitement, to the thought of Kearney. He recalled the broad expanse of his back, strong shoulders hidden underneath thick, orange cloth, upon which a proud but grim 'DR' was emblazoned.

If Reed's change of occupation was approved, he could work in Kearney's cell block. He could potentially see Kearney for more than one hour each day. He hardly hesitated for another second longer before he chose janitorial, and ticked cell block DR, then handed in the form.

By the time Reed had made it to the yard later that day, he'd already resolved to keep his job change secret, so that it would be a surprise. Maybe Kearney would appreciate that, since the last attempted surprise between them had been ever so slightly soured.

When Reed approached the fence, he got randomly frisked by a CO, but even that did not wipe the idiotic smile off his face. He had a secret, and he was about to revel in it.  
Kearney even looked happy to see him when he made it over. Life was alright. It sure wasn't perfect, but it was alright. Reed reached out to immediately touch the fence, hanging his hands against it while Kearney spoke up to address him.

"You're here," he said with a rare lightness to his tone. "So does this mean our relationship is due to go on?"

"Yep,” Reed answered without any further hesitation.

Kearney seemed ever so slightly dubious, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "And you thought long and hard about it?"

"Oh," Reed chuckled. "Very long and very hard, you know, much to my cellmate's dismay."

"I see," Kearney purred, catching quickly onto the implication of Reed's suggestive tone. He tilted his head in intrigue and said, "Care to elaborate on that?"

A nervous laugh bubbled from Reed. "What- you want me to tell you about it?"

"Oh yes. Please," Kearney insisted like this was a dare. One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a smug, playful grin. "Share."

"Hmm," Reed licked his lips in thought, a sly smile curving them. "Only if it's tit for tat. That's your thing, right?"

A breathy titter came from Kearney. "What are you asking me for exactly?"

"Well," Reed began, inching his body closer to the chainlink, "do you think long and hard about me too, when you're lying in your bunk at night?"

Kearney's silence said so much more than any spoken reply could. He tilted his chin slightly upward, blue eyes gleaming behind his glasses, which he raised his hands to gently push up the bridge of his nose. He looked incredibly cornered, yet he relented, offering only a nod of his head.

Reed held one hand over his mouth, sputtering in disbelieving laughter. "What sorts of things?" he prodded.

"...are you sure you can handle that answer?" Kearney uttered, voice deadpan. He upheld this menacing facade long enough to wipe the smile from Reed's face, then he said, "I think about spending time with you, without a fence standing between us. Filthy, I know."

Reed scoffed in amusement, shaking his head. "Oh yeah, you're a real deviant."

"Gavin Reed," Kearney said, suddenly very serious, so much so that he damn near sent Reed into a panic. He amended Reed's obvious worry by smiling softly before speaking up. "I must insist- have you really made your peace with my.. charges?"

"Yeah. I really have," Reed answered in an equally serious way. "You're already being punished, whether or not you did it. The rest isn’t my business. But like with any relationship, if shit goes sideways, either of us can bail."

"That's fair," Kearney replied.

"Good," Reed said with a sneaky sort of grin that rounded his cheeks in a way that could nearly give him a boyish appearance; his freshly shaved face helped. "And hey– no promises– but you might just be seeing more of me than usual."

"Curious." Kearney blinked, brows raising slightly upward. "How do you plan to accomplish this?"

"That part is a surprise." Reed pointed obscurely. "Oh, also!" He reached into the unbuttoned top of his jumpsuit, bringing out another package of Snoball cakes and holding it out for the other man to see.

"Sweets still interest you?" He offered.

"Are you sure you're not still trying to wring a confession out of me?" Kearney asked, one of those subtle smiles curving at the corners of his lips. "Because you came properly armed, if so."

"Hey, I'm not a cop," Reed asserted. "But if I were, I doubt I'd use Snoball cakes to get my confessions." 

Reed raised the plastic packet to the fence, pressing it partly through. However, when Kearney's cuffed hands went to reach for it, Reed drew back, a teasing smile on his face. Kearney's eyes went straight to his.

"We can share, right?" Reed asked.

"..does that make this a date?" Kearney asked in turn, drawing something of a snort and an eyeroll out of Reed.

"We're missing the expensive, frufru coffee, but sure." At last, Reed held the package where Kearney could take hold of it. The small length of chain between his wrists clinked as he reached for it, and even with his hands cuffed, Kearney opened the plastic package with ease. 

He slid one of the round, pink cakes from the wrapping, then passed the plastic packet back through the fence to Reed, for Reed to take out the other cake.

"So what was your interrogation like?" Reed asked. He wouldn't admit it, but each time the other man answered any given question, his pulse fluttered in excitement and he held every tidbit of information in his mind like something irreplacable and precious. "Was there much of that good cop, bad cop stuff?"

"No," Kearney answered, blue eyes focused on the pink cake, his fingers lightly squishing it as though to test its softness. He seemed satisfied. "Well, unintentionally perhaps." 

The man took the first bite of the Snoball, exposing the thin, marshmallow layer beneath the pink, coconut flake coating, as well as the moist, chocolate cake in the center. His bites were small and tidy, and he brushed his knuckles against the corners of his mouth immediately after.

"The first detective who attempted to get a confession out of me-- a Lieutenant Anderson-- he was very emotionally invested in the case, so to speak. He lost his temper with me more than once, and as a result, his superior removed him from the case." Kearney smiled like there was an unspoken victory to that situation. Reed took a hearty bite out of his own cake, but his gray eyes never left Kearney's face, totally absorbed in this story. "Apart from that, the officers who spoke with me did all they could to trick me into believing that they were on my side, that they were trying to help me, especially after the ordeal with Anderson."

"Yeah that's how they get you." Reed mumbled, one cheek slightly bulging with half-chewed Snoball cake. "Lying pricks." 

Kearney went quiet as he took another bite, and Reed posed his next burning question. "So what part did your cop brother play in all this?" he asked.

The blue of Kearney's eyes almost seemed to brighten with how attentive he became at the mention of his sibling. He chewed and swallowed the bite in his mouth before replying. "Ah. Well, my dear sibling was a fledgling of a detective at that time," Kearney began. "He was the one who instigated my arrest, but he wasn't senior enough to act as much more than a witness. So when Anderson was taken off the case, Connor sort of 'joined forces' with him, and the two of them went rogue in pursuit of evidence against me."

"Geez," Reed furrowed the skin between his brows, squinting his right eye a bit more than his left. "What motivated your own damn brother to hardball you like that? I mean- if anything, family should be the ones who believe in your innocence, even when your guilt is obvious, right?"

Kearney rolled his shoulders with a measured movement, turning his head aside while he contemplated the answer to that. He hesitated for a few seconds, then spoke up, his tone sanitized of emotion. "Connor was much like Anderson at the time-- emotionally distraught," he explained. "The Hawkwasp had taken somebody important out of his life, and the need to place blame on somebody blinded him.." 

Kearney trailed off, momentarily distracting himself with another bite of the Snoball before he continued, "Uh– if you don't mind, though, this is beginning to stray into uncomfortable territory for me."

"Right, right, sorry." Reed kicked at the dirt beneath his feet and shoved the last morsel of cake into his gob before it had a chance to crumble in his hands.

Kearney also finished off his cake, and Reed watched the way that he licked his fingertips after, pressing each one softly between his lips and wetting them with the very tip of his tongue.

"So what about you?" The man behind the fence spun the questions back at Reed. "What sorts of gauntlets did the cops put you through after you were arrested?"

"I wish my story sounded half as cool." Reed said, laughed in embarrassment just thinking back on it. He breathed a sigh, resolving to tell the tale anyway, regardless of how pathetic it was. "I was arrested for that knife threat thing and I was in jail for a bit. There was nobody to bail me out." 

He remembered sitting in a crowded holding cell for two straight days, with nothing to do but dwell on just how badly he'd fucked things up.

And then it got worse.

"Some absolute fuckin' prick found me in there and came to interrogate me about the other shit I'd done," Reed recounted, crossing his arms over his chest. The prick was a bit like Kearney in that he was far too calm and ridiculously condescending. The difference was that he had a sniveling jackal face and zero charm. He also had a fancy watch he liked to fuss with and he wore way too much expensive cologne. "It was this dude, special agent Perkins or whatever," Reed clarified.

"A federal agent?" Kearney purred in intrigue, brows twitching upward.

"Yeahh," Reed grumbled, the sound of it gruff in his chest. "I guess he'd been trying to find me beforehand. As soon as I was in the system, it was like I was at their mercy. I took a plea bargain-- pled guilty and made a full confession for the sake of a shorter sentence."

"Hmm," Kearney hummed with a nod, disappointed. "Now that's how they really get you."

"Yeah tell me about it." Reed unfurled his arms, swatting the air in a show of indignant fury. He counted to ten and took several breaths, then tilted his head in Kearney's direction, peering up at the tall bastard on the other side.

"They try the same shit on you?" Reed asked, without thought. When Kearney's eyes narrowed fractionally and his body held far too still, Reed scrunched his face and brushed off his own question. "Right, uh, nevermind," he mumbled.

"No, it's alright," Kearney said with a quiet sigh. He pivoted gracefully on heel and began to slowly walk, letting Reed follow along. 

"They did try that," Kearney confirmed, a bitter sharpness lingering at the tip of his tongue with each word. "They insisted that I plead guilty, throwing every missing person in our proximity at my feet and demanding that I take the fall for all of it. They really wanted to close every possible case with a nice, neat bow, all at my expense."

"What the fuck was in it for you?" Reed spat, sympathetically pissed off, if that was possible.

"A life sentence," Kearney breathed.

"How is that a prize?"

"It isn't." Kearney let out a little chuckle, his ankle chains rattling with each step that he took, his paces short and awkwardly measured. "It just sounds very appealing when held up against the.. alternative"

"Which is what?" Reed asked.

Kearney paused, turning a sideways glance in the other man's direction while he waited for Reed to figure out the obvious answer. His blue eyes studied Reed, from the squared sway of his shoulders when he walked, to the bullish swagger of his gait.

He was very patient. And then, success.

"Oh.." Reed uttered, his gaze falling on the letters DR printed in hard, black font across Kearney's back. "Yeah. A death sentence." 

A sigh came from Reed like he genuinely believed this whole thing was a damn shame. Temporarily, he misplaced the fact that the other man was accused of multiple, cold-blooded murders.

"I guess you didn't give them what they wanted, huh.." Reed said. It was more of a comment than a question, but Kearney still breathed an answer, as though in defiance.

"Never," he replied, a smile curving his lips.

"Fuck yeah, man, fight the power," Reed blurted, with a half-hearted laugh.

Kearney still seemed satisfied enough with the encouragement, though his response was bleak. "Unfortunately I believe this is more of an 'I fought the law and the law won' situation."

Reed didn't know what the hell he could say. He slowed to a stop and pressed his hands to the fence, this time in offering, this time inviting the reassuring touch that Kearney had always prompted himself, before now.

A quiet, contented smile crawled across Kearney's features as his eyes went to where Reed's hands were waiting. He brought his own hands awkwardly to the chainlink, palms warm against Reed's, fingers folding over the other man's.

Again, Reed felt that pang in his chest, clenching until it was tight in his throat. It came alongside a glimmer of doubt that had been conceived from maybe naivety, foolishness or even the blind desire for there to be more to the awful truth which was staring Reed in the face, but–

They just didn't seem like the hands of a monster.

Reed's musings were quickly interrupted, when he chanced a glimpse at Kearney's face, noticing that one of those sneaky, weasel smiles had upturned the corners of his lips. It actually reached Kearney's eyes, something which happened rarely.

"What is it?" Reed hissed like it was an accusation, laughing even so.

"You said this was a date," Kearney said. "And you promised before that there would be kissing on our next date."

Reed's hands dropped as he barked a flustered laugh, his bruised face turning hot. 

God this guy loved pulling the rug out from under Reed with his forwardness

"Yeah unfortunately I doubt the yard would be the best place for it," Reed mumbled, glancing over his shoulder and eyeing the numerous men dressed in bright orange. "My face already looks like shit as it is, without pissing someone off by kissing on a murderer in front of the whole prison."

"An alleged murderer," Kearney corrected.

"Right." 

They went quiet. Reed fussed with his hands, fiddling with one of the seams of his jumpsuit, eyes blindly moving across things in the distance. Kearney was stock still in an inhuman way, waiting, watching.

"Hey, so, this flirting is very entertaining and all, but what is it really about?" Reed breathed with a sigh, talking maybe a bit too fast. "Are you.. serious? Or is this just fun for you?"

"It's fun and I'm serious," Kearney replied like it was so easy and simple. "I'm a multifaceted multitasker, a man of many talents."

Reed let out a breathy chuckle at the other man's self-aggrandizing wit. "You're also a prick," Reed commented in amusement, then he brought his eyes to make contact with Kearney's. "What do you even like about me?"

"Ohh," Kearney cooed. "Gavin Reed's incessant need for affirmation rears its adorable head yet again." 

Reed swatted the fence, drawing a laugh out of the cuffed man. Kearney shook his head to brush off the joke, then answered seriously. "You seem to like me too– that's a fair start. Also, I enjoy your company."

"Seems like a pretty low bar." Reed let out a scoff. Maybe he really was desperate for affirmation.

"We're at the infatuation phase," Kearney stated with another one of his shrugs like Reed was over-complicating a simple matter. "We're not supposed to be able to name a hundred of each other's endearing qualities yet. We're only meant to acknowledge that there's an indescribable force, drawing us together, and perhaps find out why."

"Hmm," Reed nodded, considering it.

"For example-- what do you like about me?" Kearney hung his hands against the fence, tilting his head and studying Reed's features.

"Uhh.. well, I guess you're um.." Reed's eyes met Kearney's, then darted away. "..attractive and charming? You know, despite being an absolute tool."

"That amounts to enjoying my company and liking my looks." Kearney said, tone neutral, careful, making it clear that he wasn't trying to diminish Reed's compliment.

"I want to know you, Gavin Reed," Kearney went on, something about him intensifying suddenly. It made Reed feel smaller, somehow, yet unbearably visible. "I am interested enough to spend my time discovering your endearing qualities. And yes, I'm serious."

The chime which ended yard time blared over the loudspeakers mounted here and there, and Reed's head fell back in a slight fit of frustration.

"Yeah, me too. I wanna know you too," Reed responded. He wished he had time to say something more profound. He thought again about his change of occupation and that brought a smile back to his face. Soon he wouldn't be confined to a single hour of interaction each day. 

"If you really want more from me, you'll just have to wait for it, yeah?" Reed said with a laugh, backing slowly away from the fence. "Because as I recall, you don't want a cheap whore, you want real acts of passion, right?"

Reed winked to drive his little joke home, and Kearney gave him a tiny smile, looking him up and down.

"For the record, Gavin Reed, you're not lacking in charm, yourself," he called, backing away from the fence himself. "Until tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, you've gotta love when two characters work things out and grow together as people. How do we all feel about Reed and Kearney right now? Is this genuine interest on both of their parts? Any theories about Kearney's life prior to his imprisonment? I love hearing from all of you! Also-- Thank you for all of the Kudos and bookmarks so far!
> 
> ONE MORE THING! I'm thinking of doing a giveaway soon, with this story as the theme. It will most likely be hosted on my Twitter, so if you're not already following me there, head on over there for more details!
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)   
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	9. Chapter 9

After three days of waiting to receive his transfer, the news which Reed had become very eager for finally came.

He was a tired, sweaty mess from his current job, when he was called into the office of some member of the administrative staff. It was clearly not at all appreciated, as made evident by how a fan was immediately directed at him when he walked in.

The man who handled it talked in a slow, grating monotone, and ended every one of his sentences with, "okay?" This required Reed to stand and nod for an infuriatingly long period of time, just to have his transfer approved.

He was asked a few probing questions, as it was considered suspicious for him to give up his higher paying job for janitorial, but he got through that with short, simple answers.

Reed left the rambling bastard's office in a good mood, despite everything. His last day of being hauled around and straining his back was over. After breakfast tomorrow, he'd start his new job where he'd probably be able to spend some time slacking off and talking to Kearney.

Kearney-- Reed had spent his last three days of yard time with the man from death row. Their interactions had become smooth and steady, easy even. Reed was consciously trying not to let down all of his walls, not to bare himself to complete vulnerability, but that part was getting more and more difficult. The more one got to know somebody, though, the more inevitable vulnerability became. Reed supposed that at some point, he would have to accept the unavoidable reality.

It did him little good to fight it.

The next day, around 8am when breakfast ended, Reed was taken on like an apprentice by another guy who worked janitorial. He was a big, graying man with a very round belly that stretched the waistband of his orange jumpsuit. 

He had visible tattoos along the back and sides of his neck, and a very scarred up face, so he was probably a much meaner dude in his youth. Now, though, he'd retired to quietly mopping the halls and scrubbing the toilets. 

It was a sad reality, but the numerous years lived by older men didn't equate to currency for the purchase of lifelong respect. Age made a person frail, and the strong chewed up the weak without care or regard.

The old guy showed Reed to the janitor's closet that corresponded with the DR cellblock. It was apparently shared between two other blocks, which was a subtle way of warning Reed not to hide any valuable contraband within.

He was very thorough in explaining all of the equipment. Very, very thorough. He clearly took the various cleaning detergents and the placement of the numerous wastebaskets quite seriously. Reed was more of a hands-on learner, but he tried to remember the key points.

While he was standing on threshold of the janitor's closet and struggling to be attentive, however, something inevitably came along to cause Reed a great deal of distraction. Out of the instinct to be alert at all times, whenever somebody strode down the corridor, Reed glanced in their direction.

In this particular instance, when Reed looked up, he caught sight of the eerily familiar face of Detective Kearney, flanked by COs.

Detective Kearney– what was the name his brother called him by? Connor? He seemed too perfectly put together to be real, like a man made of plastic. A real plastic prick.

Whatever.

Reed still wondered why he was here, of course. From what he understood, he never bothered to visit his twin.

Detective Kearney proceeded down the white halls, clutching a leather case at his side, and keeping his dark eyes focused straight ahead. There were quite a few security checks before the DR cellblock, which was the detective's destination. 

At this prison, they preferred showing visitors to the cells of the death row inmates, rather than letting the inmates out– less risk of escape, less risk of assault. Simpler, safer.

"Detective R. Connor Kearney, here for visitation with inmate DR-RK900," Connor spoke plainly at the final checkpoint, showing identification "I'm expected."

The CO at the checkpoint was seated at a computer desk. He looked over the ID provided, then clicked his fingers against the keyboard before him, checking the system to make certain that the visitation had properly scheduled.

DR inmates were only allowed one visit per person, per month, so there was a great deal of care for procedure. The CO quickly confirmed the visit and Connor's identity, opening the steel mesh door to allow the detective into the cellblock.

Death Row had a different appearance compared to the rest of the facility, much like it was constructed as an afternote at a later period. Whereas other areas of the prison were low-hanging and white washed, and lit solely by florescent lights, death row had a very vaulted, gray appearance, with barred windows to the outside that let in the sun.

It was a long hallway of steel and cement, with tall ceilings and visible ductwork. Connor let out a bitter scoff at how it almost looked like some industrial condo that you'd pay way too much money for in the city. He wasn't sure if that said more about the cell block or the condos, however.

When Connor arrived at his brother's cell at last, the man inside didn't immediately look up and notice him. Of course not– the detective's visit had been scheduled and announced to the whole of the prison staff, but not to Kearney himself.

Connor's eyes quickly studied the cell; the walls were made of old, chipped cement and cinderbrick. The window was far above Kearney's reach, and covered by a sturdy, steel grate, casting a hatched wall of sunlight into the corridor. The wall which stood between Connor and his brother was clear, bulletproof glass, for maximum visibility, with a small section of holes for sound exchange.

The CO abruptly announced their presence by banging a nightstick against the glass and saying, "Kearney, you have a visitor."

The man in the cell had been reading over what appeared to be a letter of some kind, but he sat up straight at the disturbance, turning and meeting eyes with his brother.

Kearney's gaze widened ever so slightly as he processed the sight, his lips opening but not producing any sound for a few, tense moments.

"Connor..?" Kearney muttered, setting the letter aside and getting to his feet. "This is a surprise."

"Hello brother." Connor greeted the other, a weak smile on his lips, his jaw muscles clenching.

Slowly, as though in the expectation that Connor could flee, Kearney approached the glass that stood between them.

"It's been some time, but somehow you haven't changed at all." Kearney smiled softly, speaking with caution. "I suppose you're doomed to have that baby face forever, aren't you?"

The bump of Connor's Adam's apple moved beneath the pale skin of his throat. He blinked a few times, eyes shifting, then meeting Kearney's gaze. "It's to my benefit sometimes."

A quiet, breathy laugh came out of Kearney. "I'm sure," he replied, blue eyes shining. He laid one shaking hand against the glass. "They never see you coming, do they?"

Connor smiled, soft and awkward and forced. The fathomless dark of his gaze flickered to where his brother's palm was rested and away just and fast. His smile faded, but as he spoke up, his voice was gentle, careful. "Unfortunately, I didn't come to catch up, Nathan," Connor said. "I needed to ask a favor of you."

"I see." Kearney nodded his head, gaze averting, lips pulling tight. He took his hand back from the glass, slowly folding his arms over his chest instead. "From day one, you never visited. You didn't visit for years," Kearney said, his voice low, steady, and utterly composed. His lips curled slightly as he spoke, flashing the points of his canines. "You dropped in to intimidate another inmate, but never visited your own brother. So of course, when you show up, it's because you need something."

"There's a Hawkwasp copycat on the loose," Connor stated, smartly sidestepping his brother's guilt-tripping for the sake of getting to the real point.

"Copycat." Kearney chuckled, narrowing his eyes and sharply locking gazes with his brother. "I resent that, Connor."

"Cut the shit, Nathan. You're not fooling anyone and furthermore, there's no need to carry on this charade." The detective's voice was hard and steady, as cold and neutral as the impassive expression on his face. "Will you help me or not?"

"You're the famous detective, Connor, not me," Kearney remarked.

"Just answer the question."

There was a pause while Kearney considered what was being asked of him.

"What's in it for me, Connor?" The man behind the glass inquired. "What do I get for helping you make headlines again, helping you build up that impressive resume?"

Connor waited until Kearney quieted, then he held his silence a few seconds more. "Is that a no, then?" He let out a quiet, disappointed breath. "I suppose I should've known. After all, you're only capable of thinking of yourself."

"Is that really what you came all this way to say to me Connor?" Kearney growled, voice velvet and dangerously low. "You, who left me behind when you found your new family. You, who found a hand to feed you, while I struggled to survive. You turned your back on me, left me at her mercy, but I'm the one who only thinks of himself?"

There was a soft furrow to Connor's brow by the time Kearney's tirade came to an end, but nothing more.

"Are you finished?" He asked, refusing to address Kearney any further

The man behind the glass went quiet. His blue eyes turned aside and his chest rose and fell with his quickening breath. At his side, his fingers were tightly furled. He looked back at Connor, pupils so wide that suddenly they almost looked fully identical. Then, with venomous calm, Kearney said, "Have you finished fucking the old man?" He paused, watching Connor clench at the case held at his side, then Kearney narrowed his eyes, wetting his lips with his tongue and adding, "I suppose it's almost a good thing that your best friend isn't around to watch you screw his father, right?"

The Detective's dark eyes turned away, followed by his body, so that one shoulder was faced in Kearney direction. He sighed, long and slow in disappointment. Connor's hands fussed against the leather bag, fingers unzipping it half-way, enough to reach inside and produce a manila envelope from within.

A slot on the cell door was opened, and Connor pushed the envelope through. "Here are the items from the casefile that I was cleared to copy." The Detective explained, voice dismal and deadpan. "I'll come back sometime early next month, when I'm able to visit again."

"Wait-"

"When I return, I want a solid answer from you on whether or not you can assist with the case."

"Don't leave-- just wait-"

"If your answer is yes, we can work together. If it's a no, my next visit will also be my last."

Connor's gaze never turned back in his brother's direction. He zipped his case and began walking back to the cellblock exit. Kearney leaned close to the glass, his hands and cheek pressed to it while he struggled to keep sight of his brother's form, disappearing slowly down the corridor with the click of his fancy dress shoes.

"Connor.." Kearney muttered, hands shaking against the clear pane, his glasses lop-sided on his face. His breath began to fog the surface, but he kept his eyes trained on his brother's back as he grew further and further away.

Kearney's fingers clutched and clawed at the glass, his face pressing harder until the other man slipped fully out of sight at last.

His eyes clenched shut, head turning so that his forehead rested against the pane and one hand moved to be placed over his eyes, fingertips trembling atop one pounding temple.

Kearney stood, his body still and his breath heaving for a few moments, and then he began to hit the glass. He struck it gently at first, then enough to feel it shake, enough for pain to shoot through the bones of his hand, again and again, harder and harder, until his knuckles were bleeding and the clear pane was stained with his blood.

He stopped to catch his breath and took the envelope from the slot where it had been deposited. The papers shook in his grasp as he took them out, looking over them, yet hardly seeing them. Information about witnesses, suspects, suspicious individuals, people within the system who matched the psychological profile of a murderer, all loose threads for investigators grasping at fucking straws.

They didn't even care if they found the right person, really. They cared about getting to say that they caught somebody, patting themselves on the back, a job well-fucking-done.

Finally, there were images from the new Hawkwasp crimescenes. Kearney's gaze lingered on these images, studying every detail. Flayed skins, cut just so. Hollow husks left behind, the meat and bones still missing, all missing. Eight people so far, each one killed and mutilated in the exact style of the Hawkwasp murderer; not perfectly, but enough to make each scene a cheap replication.

Kearney shoved the tip on his tongue between his teeth, biting down hard enough for it to be painful. His emotions spiraled, his anger and offense violently striking one another like hot and cold fronts, forging a perfect storm of rage and destruction.

He flung the packet against the wall of his cell, so that papers flew here and there, fluttering about in no particular order. Kearney then grabbed the chair positioned at his desk and hurled it in the opposite direction, so it struck the cement with a sharp crack that set splinters free.

One arm swept across the top of his desk, knocking a handful of items to the floor where they clattered and rolled about. He took a glass figure in hand and pitched it against the wall, shattering it to a hundred, jagged shards. Then an empty jar that he'd been saving. Then a pencil holder that had already been knocked onto it's side– 

He picked up the last item and cast it toward the clear, glass wall of his cell in time to startle a person who had newly arrived and was standing just outside, a person who Kearney didn't notice until that very moment. Kearney fixed his steel blue gaze on the man outside the glass, settling his stare on the vaguely perturbed expression of Gavin Reed.

"...Gavin?"

"Hey. I uhh.." Reed's eyes were dancing across the mess of Kearney's cell and the blood smears on the glass. "I switched to working janitorial in your neighborhood, so I could come visit you every day. Surprise."

"Leave," Kearney commanded, his voice sharp.

"Oh. Well yeah, I can see it's not umm.." Reed focused on Kearney, witnessing how rapidly he went from wild and unhinged, to perfectly still. His knuckles were dripping blood, his hair falling against his forehead in mused waves. "..it's not exactly the best time, so I'll just do my work and leave you alo--"

"Shut up and get out of here, right now," the man in the cell breathed with a snarl.

Reed put up his hands in submission and backed away from Kearney's cell, breathing a disappointed sigh. He pushed his mop bucket down the hall, thinking it was probably best to start at the other end of the corridor.

;

Meanwhile, outside of the prison, Detective R. Connor Kearney was climbing into the passenger side of another man's car. Once inside, he breathed a heavy exhale, setting his elbow against his car door and dropping his face into one palm.

"You good, Connor?" The older man on the driver side asked, both wary and sympathetic. He started the engine and put the car in drive, pulling out of the lot.

"Yeah," Connor answered in a dull, listless way.

"Hm," the man's voice rumbled in consideration, not at all buying the answer he'd received. "You didn't let him get in your head, right?" He asked, concern palpable.

"No, of course not, Hank," Connor asserted, lifting his head to glance at the man by his side. "But I guess I had been hoping that being so guarded wasn't necessary. I set myself up for disappointment."

Hank nodded, taking a long, slow breath, hands clutching the steering wheel tight. His lips were drawn and sucked in, a sure sign that he was fuming ever so slightly. 

"He stopped being the brother you knew a long time ago," Hank said, his voice rough as sandpaper yet warm and enveloping. "You're only hurting yourself by hoping that if you look deep enough, you'll find him."

"I know that," Connor bleakly replied. He brooded for a few more minutes, then softly spoke the words, "Thanks for coming with me, Hank. I know this is as difficult for you as it is for me." 

He reached across the space between himself and the other man in order to set a gentle touch against Hank's thigh.

"No thanks necessary," Hank breathed, every word warm and rumbling. "I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, Connor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, friends! Hey, how are we feeling? This is one of my favorite chapters, because it's the first time we've seen Kearney become so emotionally unhinged. Does this moment of temper change anyone's opinions about him? OR, do you all distrust Connor? And how about poor Gavin? He really was in the wrong place at the wrong time, huh? 
> 
> Let me know, friends. As you know, I love hearing from you all. I'm also really grateful for the kudos and the bookmarks. Thanks for reading, everyone!
> 
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	10. Chapter 10

After Kearney’s poor reception of Reed’s surprise, Reed spent his evening sulking, not that it was visible to anyone. On the outside, he probably looked like the same bitter, angry, lonely bastard as always. 

At dinner, he choked down his food: a broccoli and corn mixture that tasted kinda buttery, a slice of ham so processed that it was white, a dinner roll, and a fruit cup which was technically expired. Good to know that Wal-Mart was still able to sell expired goods, though. Bastards.

Reed went off to the showers alone after meal time. He tried not to make a big show of it. Normally he went at the same time as Manfred, because the risk of getting shanked by ABs in there was real, but tonight he didn't exactly feel like taking precautionary measures.

Once he was naked under the spray, Reed let his mind wander.

Earlier today, Kearney hadn’t been outside at yard time and though Reed could roughly guess why that was, the finer details were uncertain to him. All he knew was that by the time he'd finished work, Kearney had been face down on his cot, completely still, as though the emotional outburst that Reed had witnessed also came with a vast expense of energy. Reed didn't dare disturb him, but he could imagine– 

He could imagine a whole new side to the man behind the fence, now. 

He could also imagine the COs coming in at yard time to find Kearney's cell littered with broken glass. He saw it all so clearly in his mind: them manhandling a snarling, enraged Kearney and cuffing him while they called someone to clean the trashed cell. Afterwards, they further punished Kearney by taking away his one daily hour outside.

Reed wondered what had made him so violently upset. Did it have something to do with Detective Twink's presence? That seemed to be a fair likelihood.

Reed finished his shower and toweled off, then he slid into the orange jumpsuit that he wore when he wasn't working. It was almost laundry day, so the cloth didn't feel as satisfyingly clean as it should, but it was better than the one he'd shed before showering.

As Reed was buttoning up, Todd Williams and a few of his guys came in. It wasn't too unusual; the showers were generally busiest after dinner. Reed did his best not to make any eye contact with them, lest they’d take it as some kind of challenge. 

Despite Reed's caution, however, they approached him immediately. Williams laid one, big hand against the tiled wall, his arm blocking Reed's escape route, not that Reed had ever backed down from anyone to date.

"Heard you left your laborer position for janitorial," Williams said, his gruff voice calm, but holding a permanent, underlying rage.

"Yeah," Reed confirmed, tilting his head back to challengingly meet Williams’s gaze. The whites of his eyes were tinted red from drug use, and it made the blue of his irises appear mad in their brightness. "And?"

"And?" Williams repeated with a laugh, his brows going up, while a dangerous, thin-lipped smile showed his teeth. "And you didn't even bother to ask me if it was alright."

"What difference does it make to you?" Reed snarled in reply, his shoulders moving in a shrug. His back was straight and his chest was puffed. He glanced between Williams’s guys; they weren't brandishing weapons yet. He looked to the side; another guy was showering, but intentionally keeping his head turned in the opposite direction.

"It's makes a difference in the prison economy. Money is power right?" Williams growled, his white face already going red at the offense Reed had unwittingly committed.

"I don't buy contraband from you," Reed said plainly. "So what's the point?"

Again, Williams laughed at Reed's foolishness. He had a laugh like a growl that foretold his growing anger, and a smile that disappeared with unsettling quickness. "The point is that by leaving your position, you made it available to one of the Nazis from our block. By giving one of them a better job, you increased the funds available to the whole." Williams explained, inching closer to Reed as he did, until Reed could feel the man's hot breath on his face. Reed held his ground. He did not break the eye contact. Williams jammed an accusing finger into Reed's chest and his fists tightened automatically at the touch. 

"The point is that you gave my rivals money indirectly, and that stands to make them stronger, which becomes a problem for me. You get it?" Williams said.

"I get it," Reed growled.

"Good." That wild, insane, angry smile pulled across Williams face, then melted into a snarl that wrinkled his nose in mere seconds. "So you better make it right. Or there will be consequences."

Reed thanked his lucky fuckin' stars that Williams decided to let him slide, without the customary beating. 

For the rest of the evening, Reed chilled in the common area with his notepad, practicing tattoo designs that guys in prison would actually want, rather than the usual artsy shit. He needed to have some designs to start with, at least.

Being reminded that he'd be able to purchase his items in a few more days helped to steady his nerves. Now he just needed to find a good place to stash his tools. He had a feeling that somewhere in the DR cellblock would work, because the place didn't get much traffic.

The next day, when Reed made it down to the DR cellblock, everything was as it should be. Kearney's cell had been straightened up, and it even appeared as though his tantrum from the day before had never happened at all.

The man himself was still lazing about, stretched out on his cot, but upside down from how he was meant to lay on in. He had his feet propped up on his pillow, while his head was lain at the foot of the bed and his hands were folded over his belly.

Maybe it helped him ignore the constant guard checks? Reed had noticed yesterday that the COs came through every hour for counts.

Reed took a deep breath and tapped on the glass to get Kearney's attention. At least Kearney seemed calmer today, anyway. When he heard the tapping, he tilted his head back to see Reed standing there, then he got to his feet, combing one hand through his hair to straighten it out.

"Hello there, Gavin Reed," he greeted his guest, now back to the smooth talking, rock steady persona that Reed had been so used to, prior to yesterday.

"Hey," Reed said warily. He glanced at the man's knuckles as he approached the glass; his hands were bandaged today. So maybe he was actually in the medical ward during yard time yesterday.

"So this is your new job now, is that right?" Kearney asked. Reed's eyes went to his; Kearney was looking at the nearby mop bucket that Reed had pushed here from the janitor's closet.

"Oh. Yeah, it is," Reed answered, looking at the bucket awkwardly, then back to Kearney. "I sweep and mop the corridor and clean the cellblock showers, then I change out the bags in the wastebaskets." 

Kearney nodded in understanding, but said nothing, so Reed rambled off some more boring shit about his job. "Once a week, I'm supposed to clean the toilets inside the cells, but I'm guessing on those days, it'll be after they take you all out for yard."

For a moment, Kearney's gaze drifted upward in thought. He was likely trying to recall if he remembered ever seeing his toilet or sink being cleaned. It didn't take him long. "I believe that is an accurate assumption," he concluded.

Gavin nodded, chewing at the inside of his cheek and snapping his fingers impatiently at his sides. He let his hands swing out in front of himself, his palms clapping idly together. Then, as the stretch of silence grew unbearably awkward, he decided to breach the most obvious topic.

"So, hey man," he began, eyes drifting aside, then going back to Kearney, "about what happened yesterday–"

"Stop right there," the other man snapped abruptly. He didn't sound angry, not like yesterday. No, he was just dangerously neutral. "We don't need to talk about that."

Reed immediately scoffed at Kearney's bizarre caginess. "Of course we do," Reed insisted, a little louder than he meant to. Great, now he was getting angry.

"Gavin, no."

"C'mon, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, Kearney." Reed went on, one hand knocking against the glass in frustration. 

He brought the memory of the previous day back to his minds eye; Kearney's busted, bleeding knuckles, the disarray of his wild curls, the ice cold gleam of rage in his eyes and the way his face wrinkled in a snarl.

Reed hadn't seen someone to fear, someone to judge, no. He'd finally seen something in Kearney that, until this point, had been masterfully concealed: humanity.

Reed took a breath, calming himself. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug and pressed one hand to the glass. "I have to go to anger management once a week for fucks sake. Of all people, I under-fuckin-stand."

Kearney had a soft wrinkle to the skin between his brows; a subtle, curious look. He allowed the silence to stand for a moment longer, then he cocked his head to one side and said, "Did you call me by my last name?"

"Wh.. yeah," Gavin muttered in sudden uncertainty. "Didn't you say before that you don't go by your first name?"

"I don't," Kearney answered, reaching one hand to push his glasses up, straightening them. Gavin watched his every movement; it was almost odd to see his hands uncuffed and moving independently. "You're welcome to use my middle name in it's place– Nathan."

"Nathan." It felt weird on Reed's tongue. Even so, Kearney smiled at the sound of it, one of those subtle smiles that faintly curved his pretty lips.

"I can't believe that I never clarified that," Kearney added with a breathy titter. "I suppose after all this time, we're only just now getting properly introduced. It's nice to meet you, Gavin Reed."

Reed smiled a bit, reaching up to scratch his stubbled cheek. He could easily tell that Kearney was trying to be evasive, but it was fun to watch him thicken the charm. Frankly, it was goddamn adorable.

Reed let out a sigh, his arms falling at his sides while he shifted his weight between his feet. "Okay, look, I'm not gonna probe you about something you don't wanna talk about. I’m not exactly touchy-feely either. But if you need to complain about whatever is pissing you off, I'll be here every damn day."

The light from behind Kearney silhouetted the shape of his shoulders and cast shadows across his face that traced his cheekbones. His steel blue eyes shined in what looked like consideration, or at least deliberation. "My emotions belong to me and nobody else," he stated. "Nothing in this life belongs to me anymore; not my body, not my time, scarcely even my thoughts or the story of how I came to be. I'd like to keep at least this one piece of myself, if you don't mind."

Reed gave his head a dubious shake, his arms folding over his chest. He caught sight of Kearney's gaze flickering lower as he did it, and that brought a crooked grin to his face. "Kinda the pot calling the kettle black here, but.. that just seems like self-isolation," Reed said. He’d sworn that he'd heard a whole lecture about this in anger management; at the time he'd concluded that it was garbage.

Kearney also crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder into the glass, tipping his head against it. His eyes moved up and down over Reed and he gave the man a soft, curious smile. "So I'm not the only one in self-imposed emotional isolation?"

"No, you're not the only one," Reed said softly, leaning against the clear pane as Kearney did. His gaze wandered, however, as he considered the bleak existence of life in prison.

"There's nobody in here that gives a shit, really. Friendships aren't real, it's all just alliances. And the only emotion you can share without looking like a victim is anger, and even that can easily get you into shit." He scoffed, shrugging in a noncommittal way. "Just look at my damn face."

Reed's olive gray eyes drifted upward to find Kearney's patiently awaiting contact. They couldn't physically touch each other through the glass, yet Reed distinctly felt that this was the closest and most intimate they'd ever been.

Kearney smiled, observing Reed's face. "It's actually looking a lot better." He chuckled. "Either that, or the bruises just naturally enhance your roguish good looks."

"Oh yeah," Reed said with a snort of laughter that wrinkled his nose. He rapped the glass with the back of his hand, the same as one might playfully nudge a friend. "You're full of fuckin' shit." 

"So," Reed began anew after a moment of pause. "You don't wanna talk about yesterday at all then? Final answer?"

"I don't," Kearney stated without any hesitation.

"Fine," Reed said. His disappointment was probably clear but he wasn't gonna beg. "Alright th--" 

Reed's words died in his throat and were banished from his mind when he caught sight of something very, very unusual. A young-looking, white cat had just crawled out from a hidden space beneath Kearney's cot. She strutted out, onto a rug that laid atop the cement floor, and she stretched her front legs out before herself, claws slightly gripping into the plush of the mat. When she finished her stretch, she leapt up onto Kearney's desk.

"There's a fuckin' cat in there," Reed dully stated the obvious in his perplexed surprise.

"Oh," Kearney calmly glanced over, instantly spotting the newly emerged cat, who was slow-blinking at him with bright blue eyes. He turned back to Reed and nodded. "Yes. The nurse who works my cellblock thought it would be therapeutic."

Reed took a couple of paces to the side, pressing his face to the glass and tapping his fingers in the hopes of getting the feline's attention. He felt kinda like an idiot kid at a zoo, but fuck it, seeing the animal offered a small glimmer of joy to his harsh, joyless world.

He watched the cat sniff around the desk, crawling over a typewriter and seating herself near the back of the desk where a few orange, prescription medication bottles were neatly gathered. She considered them, then promptly knocked them over.

Reed laughed at the cat's antics, then cleared his throat and returned his attention to Kearney, who was watching him in equally charmed amusement.

"Hey, but I thought that ser--" Reed began, only to trail off in hesitation.

"Yes, Gavin?" Kearney purred, brows raising in expectation.

Reed glanced between the cat and Kearney again. "I just thought that serial killers liked to hurt animals." He shrugged, gesturing vaguely. "You know, it seems like that could be a bad idea, in the case that you are one, I mean."

Kearney nodded, saying, "You're right," with far too much composure and ease. It made Reed's eyes widen in nervousness, a reaction which brought another tiny smile to Kearney's face.

"They have a full psychological profile on me," Kearney clarified, for Reed's peace of mind. "I had long made it clear that I didn't have a childhood history of animal abuse, at the point that the therapy pet was suggested."

"Ah, well that's good," Reed mumbled, though another awkward question had surfaced from the dark depths of his mind: What would happen to the cat after Kearney was executed?

He opted to ask, instead, "What's it's name?"

"Bundy," Kearney answered with a sly smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes.

A sputtered laugh came from Reed. "Get out, you did not name your cat after Ted fuckin' Bundy."

"No, of course not. Nobody in their right mind would name anything after Ted Bundy," Kearney scoffed. "Her name is Dahmer, of course."

"God, you're so funny, you're just so fuckin' funny." Reed rolled his eyes, hitting the glass in playful frustration. "Are you gonna tell me her real name?"

The man in the cell glanced at the cat again, then shrugged, looking back at Reed. "She's deaf. She wouldn't hear me call her by a name if she had one."

"That's heartless, you fuckin’ prick," Reed hissed, effectively snubbing Kearney and turning his attention completely to the adorable companion, which Kearney didn't deserve.

Reed moved over to the cell door in order to fiddle with the door slot, pushing his fingers inside. He wiggled them about in the crevice but the cat failed to notice.

"Hey," he looked back over at Kearney, then nodded to the cat. "Bring her over here."

"You want to touch her through the door slot?" Kearney balked, quirking a brow at Reed like he'd lost his mind.

"Yeah," Reed insisted. "C'mon."

As asked, Kearney scooped up his furry friend and carried her over to the cell door. 

Once she was within arm’s reach, her big, expressive eyes finally caught sight of Reed's waggling fingers. Curious, she stretched her neck to sniff his fingertips, her whiskers tickling against his skin.

Reed let out an amused laugh and started scritching the cat's chin, which she leaned into without any further thought about who was doing it. He was reminded suddenly of those adoption centers at Petsmart, with all the cats behind clear glass.

If he could adopt a new companion right now, Reed would take them both.

He took his hand back from the door slot and nodded in satisfaction. "Fuck yeah. I got to pet a cat today," Reed said. 

Kearney snickered at the other man's simple amusement, his lips curving into one of those sneaky grins. 

"What?" Reed probed. 

"I thought for sure this was for the purpose of making a lewd joke."

Reed thought about it, then let out a snort of laughter when he realized what the joke was. He gave his head a quick shake. "Nah, I just like cats." 

He glanced at his waiting mop bucket, then heaved a sigh, tapping the glass. "Alright, lemme' get started on work. I'll come finger your pussy some more later."

 

"Ah, there it is," Kearney commented with an amused chuckle. Reed lingered to bask in the other man's moment of joy, then Kearney gestured to the tiny T.V. sitting atop his bookshelf.

"Would you like to listen to the television while you work," he offered.

"Sure," Reed agreed. He didn't actually think he'd be able to properly listen to the t.v. at a certain distance, but even at the other end of the DR corridor, Reed could still faintly make out the news program that Kearney had switched on.

It was just so much quieter in the DR block, lacking the same chaotic din of more populated areas of the prison. It was actually... kinda relaxing, even. Reed was almost happy to push a stupid broom up and down the hall, snagging glances at Kearney with each pass.

And with every other pass, Kearney snagged glances at him, too. Sometimes, Reed was even rewarded with the sight of one of the man's rare smiles.

Reed worked until noon, taking his lunchbreak outside of Kearney's cell. When the inmate who brought meals to the DR block came through, Reed was served his lunch as well, and as he'd learned the day before, the food was better quality here.

He got a ham and pimento cheese sandwich with cucumber, and an apple that was actually still fresh enough to be crisp. It was goddamn blissful. 

Over lunch, Reed brought up a topic that had occurred to him as he worked. He'd been thinking about how he'd witnessed the other man's outburst, and how Kearney had dismissed him. His conclusion was that this block was Kearney's home and now that Reed would be visiting it each and every day, he wanted to make sure his presence was welcomed.

Kearney was, after all, locked inside of a room with no means of escape and might not have necessarily wanted to entertain Reed every, single day. 

Together, they agreed that it was fair for Kearney to have a signal for days that he didn't want to be bothered– in this case, the agreed upon signal was that he would set a book down next to the glass wall. 

It was a small thing, but by the time he finished lunch, Reed felt sure that the trust between himself and Kearney had been just a bit more cemented.

Reed finished work at 2pm and went straight to yard, where he and Kearney walked and talked together. They shared a packet of Snoball Cakes, and when yard time was done, they touched hands as usual. It had become something of a habitual goodbye between them. Reed gave the other man's hands a bit more of a squeeze today, however, and Kearney smiled at the little extra show of affection.

Three days went by just like this. The DR cellblock and time with Kearney had become Reed's escape. And despite establishing a signal to preserve Kearney's privacy, he hadn't used it as of yet.

On the fourth day, Reed awakened with boundless excitement, knowing that commissary day had finally arrived. He'd even located a fool-proof hiding place for his equipment in the DR cellblock shower area.

Work came before commissary, so Reed made haste down to Kearney's neighborhood, pushing his mop bucket and whistling all the way. 

When he arrived, however, he was met with the sight of a finely dressed, unfamiliar man, standing right outside of Kearney's cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little delayed, friends. I just started a new job and I'm adjusting to a totally new sleep schedule as a result. ;u; ANYWAY, what did you all think of this chapter? Gavin is getting into deep shit with Todd, yet he seems to forget all about it when he arrives to work, huh? And lol, was anybody as surprised as Gavin was to learn about Kearney's little roomate? Gavin and Kearney really seem to be getting on nicely as well, don't they?
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one! And as usual, thank you all for the delightful comments, kudos, bookmarks and follows on my social media! It has been super nice getting to know some of you. :)
> 
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	11. Chapter 11

"Have you heard the news, Nathan?" asked the man standing right outside of the glass. He spoke with excitement that was veiled beneath the poise of a refined demeanor.

"Of course I have." Kearney breathed, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded the finely dressed man.

"This is just the evidence we needed for your appeal– the proof of wrongful conviction," said the man outside the cell. "The Hawkwasp is still free and active."

The usual neutrality of Kearney's features melted ever so slightly, replaced instead by a soft furrow to his brow and a clenched jaw. Even so, he nodded in agreement, and moved on.

"There's more," Kearney stated. "My brother paid me a visit."

"Oh?" The man speaking to Kearney let out a breathy titter, tipping his head back in intrigue. "Pray tell– whatever for?"

A soft curve appeared at the corner of Kearney's lips and his steel blue gaze darkened. "He wants my help catching the Hawkwasp." He paused, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips. "He brought copies from the investigation case file."

"Let me see them," the other man breathed, the steadiness of his voice belying his growing excitement.

Kearney turned and strode over to the desk across from his cot, thumbing through the documents which sat there, waiting. He took the packet in hand, then returned to the glass, passing the copies through the door slot and into the other man's hands.

"This is excellent," he began as he looked over the details, "this is--"

Kearney tapped the glass to interrupt. "Just a moment."

One hand came up to adjust his glasses as Kearney settled his icy stare on another man, who was across the corridor with his back turned, hunched over his apparent work. 

"Gavin Reed, you've been sweeping that same corner for the last ten minutes," Kearney said, bending down to intentionally speak into the sound transference vent. "Stop eavesdropping and just come over if you're intent on listening."

"Oh?" Reed glanced over his shoulder at the summon, a snide little grin on his face. "You're actually okay with me knowing anything about your business?"

"Don't make a pest of yourself," Kearney warned, pointing at Reed as he approached and jabbing that one, accusing finger into the glass. He then gestured to the man that he'd been conversing with. "This is my lawyer, Elijah Kamski."

Reed regarded the lawyer, raising his hand to give the other man a little wave. "Hey," Reed said, studying him. 

This Elijah Kamski was a man with a long face and glazed eyes, neatly tied, black hair and expensive looking attire that was a mix of hip and formal; a V-neck tee with a blazer and a silk scarf with the sort of design you'd expect to find on a yukata.

"And who might you be?" Elijah asked, tucking the case file into his briefcase and folding his hands before himself. His face was as clear of emotion as Kearney's, yet still Reed managed to perceive an air of judgement from little more than his empty stare.

"Elijah– this is Gavin Reed," Kearney explained. "He's a.. friend."

"I see." He raised a brow in intrigue, turning to peer at Kearney through the glass. "You're making friends now? That's a notable improvement."

"One that you can't say for yourself, I'm sure," Kearney replied, deadpan and not missing a beat. It drew a quiet chuckle out of Elijah.

"So, you two were saying that the real Hawkwasp is still out there?" Reed asked, folding his hands around the broom handle still in his grasp, hazel gray eyes going between the two other men.  
Kearney cocked his head at the question, the skin of his nose softly wrinkling in distaste. "Or else someone is making a point to completely replicate the Hawkwasp's established modus operandi."

Elijah quickly cleared his throat, tapping on the glass to quiet his client. "Yes, the Hawkwasp is still out there," the man confirmed, straightening and speaking with certainty. "He went quiet for several years and has finally resurfaced. He probably swore off killing when Nathan took the fall in his place, but he simply couldn't resist the urge forever."

Reed nodded– this all made sense to him. "So you think that Nathan is innocent?"

"Have you been listening?" Elijah said, eyes narrowed, brow softly furrowed. Reed's expression visibly soured at being patronized, and his hands tightened on the broom, but it wasn't like he could hit Kearney's visitor, so he let it slide.

"Nathan is completely innocent," Elijah went on, "Even the circumstances leading to his arrest were shaky at best– a grieving, fledgling cop who was desperate to prove himself just happens to find his twin sibling with the smoking gun?"

"Knife," Kearney corrected.

"It's a figure of speech," said Elijah.

"I'm aware."

Reed just quietly glanced between the two of them while they bickered over semantics, his gaze finally settling on the lawyer as he continued.

"It was far too convenient, regardless. That's the real point here, if you'd kindly focus on that." Elijah smiled, all too happy to shut down his client's attempts at derailing him. The man straightened his blazer, then folded his hands again, turning back to Reed.  
"Nathan was a man who had been living his life on the razor’s edge, dabbling in organized crime," Elijah explained with a certain passion, while Reed intently listened.

"Elijah," Kearney interrupted.

"It already didn't present well before a jury. The psychopathy diagnosis put the final nail in the coffin– do you know how negatively biased people are against the mentally ill?"

"Elijah," Kearney said again, a bit harder than before, but not enough to disrupt his own calm facade.

"What is it?" The lawyer asked, regarding Kearney like he was an impatient student with some kind of query.

"You're lawyering," Kearney stated in condemnation and overall annoyance. He nodded in Reed's direction, allowing a tiny smile to upturn the corners of his lips. "Gavin isn't a jury, nor is he the court of appeals. And furthermore, you're not a psychiatrist."

"False." Elijah put one finger up at the man behind the glass. "I may not be able to prescribe medication but I did study criminal psychology."

"Elijah," Kearney said once more, letting out a tired sigh and rubbing his temples. "Did you bring what I asked for?"

"Yes, of course," the lawyer breathed, glancing downward, either to hide the roll of his eyes or for the sake of searching his briefcase. He unsnapped the latches on the case, and reached a hand inside, pulling out a book.

"Here is the anthology that you requested," Elijah said as he pushed the book through the door slot.

"Excellent," Kearney purred. Reed watched the way Kearney smiled while his eyes studied the new item, and how his hands lovingly roved across every inch of it, like the feeling of the bookcover was bliss against his palms.

He never thought he’d be jealous of a book, but here he was.

"And I brought a little something extra," the lawyer announced in a softened voice, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the COs were scarce before he drew a crinkling, brown, paper bag from his case.

Reed smelled the contents of the paper bag as soon as the object appeared before him. It was like the prison food had given him a heightened sense of smell in regards to actual, tasty food.

It was definitely fast food, but something slightly high end and fancy, like one of those special, burger chains that grill your meat in front of you and allow you to select custom ingredients. Reed doubted that this pretentious clown would be caught dead in McDonald's.

"There are four hamburgers in this bag, because the last time I was here, you looked like they'd been starving you," Elijah hummed in a nonchalant manner, like the poor food quality was something to be casually brushed over.

The man paused before putting the bag through the door, however, his limpid gaze falling on Reed in consideration. He was quiet for a moment longer, then he continued. "Of course, your 'friend' also looks very hungry. You could share with him. As a fellow inmate, he's fed as poorly as you, so you should feel a certain degree of.. empathy for him, right?"

"You're a twisted man, Elijah," Kearney said with a quiet laugh. He turned and went to his desk in order to put his book aside, then he returned to the glass. He spared Reed a glance, focused and steady in a way he only was when he was thinking, debating. He ended with a smile softly curving his lips, then he turned back to Elijah.

"My ability to empathize with others aside– I would simply recommend sharing something from that bag with Gavin," Kearney said, nodding in Reed's direction. "The smell might very well make a killer out of him."

Reed knocked on the glass, letting out an indignant snort, though he wore a grin on his face. "You just know that I'll stop sharing my cakes with you of you don't feed me."

"You would never," Kearney breathed, tilting his head in Reed's direction and giving him a little wink. That quickly, Reed's brain stalled, ceasing all functions and going black for a flash before restarting. 

It felt like he'd been struck by lightning and the heat under his collar agreed. He didn't say anything more, and by Kearney's suggestion, Elijah handed two foil-wrapped hamburgers off to Reed before putting the paper bag and it's remaining contents through the door slot.

Kearney must've had an iron-clad resolve, because he managed to put the food aside in order to further discuss the appeals and the Hawkwasp evidence a bit longer.

Reed, meanwhile, shoveled one of the burgers into his face. God, it was kinda cold, but it was still warm in the middle and tasted like sweet, wood grill smoke. It had bacon and a thick slice of fancy cheese, like Swiss or provolone, and it was topped with grilled onions and mushrooms, and a sweet, tangy sauce.

Reed was sure that he interrupted them once or twice with moans of utter ecstasy.

"Nathan– listen to me," Reed could hear Elijah saying while he continued eating. "This is important. I know things between you and your brother are complicated, but under no circumstances should you help him with this case. As long as the Hawkwasp is free, you are an innocent man."

Reed glanced over in time to see Elijah with a rare, genuine smile on his face and his palm pressed to the glass. Kearney answered the gesture by nodding and putting his own hand over top.

"Understood," Kearney said in a calm, steady voice. He wasn't looking the other man in the eye as he spoke. "Thank you, Elijah."

When Reed finished eating, he stowed the second burger somewhere for safe keeping and started work. By noon, when Reed's actual lunchbreak rolled around, he returned to Kearney's cell to find that the lawyer character was long gone, meaning that they could finally chat.

"No offense," Reed began as he stood at the glass wall, looking in at Kearney, who was seated at the edge of his bed, already reading his new book. "..but that guy seemed like a real tool."

"Tools have their uses at least," Kearney stated with a smile, folding the book shut against his knee. He let out a deep sigh, idly patting the cat that was curled by his side. "Still– you're right. He's a real egotist. A condescending, self-important, college educated–"

Reed let out a laugh. "Wow, you really can't stand being around people who challenge you intellectually, huh?" He glanced down at his hands, rolling an orange that was part of his lunch between his palms. "Welcome to mediocrity, pal. It's where the rest of us live full time."

"Very funny," Kearney hummed, getting up to approach the glass at last.

"Yeah.." Reed said in a half-hearted way, eyes still plastered on the fruit. He was wondering if he was hungry enough to eat it. He was also thinking about Elijah Kamski's super nasal tone of voice. "To be honest, his voice was the most annoying part. I dunno, something about it was torture to my ears."

"Is that so?" Kearney narrowed his eyes in a dubious way, amusement shining on his features in the soft way his lips curved.

Reed nodded and smiled, saying nothing more. He began peeling the orange, pinching the skin away from the flesh. He wasn't hungry enough to eat the sandwich he'd received, but the fresh fruit they got for lunch in the DR block sure beat fruit cups.

When Reed looked up, Kearney was carefully watching his hands work. For a moment, it was calm enough between them. Within the next moment, the piercing blue of Kearney's gaze had drifted up to meet Reed's own, delving deep into him with as little as that simple glance.

"I can feel your mind working over something," he said. "What is it, Gavin Reed?"

"Doesn't do me any good to ask you anything," Reed replied, rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "You're determined to remain a mystery."

"I might choose to remain a mystery," Kearney asserted, though there was a playful undertone to his words, "but there's always the possibility that I may choose otherwise."

"Hm." Reed scoffed, hesitating further despite the reassurance. It was a rare fucking occasion when Kearney decided that he wanted to share anything and something about this screamed 'Trap.' 

Curiosity screamed louder, though. 

"So you're innocent.. but you're also a psychopath." Reed stated that with as much care as possible. Still, some part of him felt a little deceived. He held Kearney's gaze, studying that impassive face that never gave anything away. "Did I hear that right?"

Kearney groaned, his own eyes drifting downward, his brow wrinkling. He clenched his jaw for a moment, then muttered the words, "One thing is for certain, I'd like to strangle Elijah." 

That was probably meant as a joke, but neither of them laughed.

Kearney let out a breath, straightening and locking eyes with Reed, as though to show his sincerity. He folded his arms behind back, speaking up to carefully explain. "I have narcissistic personality disorder. I have a relatively low ability to express empathy, or maintain social contacts– not unlike yourself, on that note. And I had quite the penchant for risky behavior in my youth. These traits make psychopathy a clinically accurate diagnosis."

Reed's brows drifted upward as he listened, but otherwise he kept his emotional reactions hidden away, choosing instead to actually observe the man behind the glass– really, really observe him, like he was a dangerous animal that needed to be critically analyzed.

"These aren't traits that I've ever hidden from you," Kearney went on in Reed's silence. "This doesn't make me a monster, nor does it liken me to depictions of criminal insanity in media. It only makes me the perfect villain in the minds of people who don't wish to think critically."

"Huh.." Reed muttered, a little unconvinced. 

Okay, yeah, Kearney had always been kind of a condescending prick with a self-worth that was outrageously high. And he wasn't brimming with warm, fuzzy feelings, but he hadn't been entirely callous either. In fact, he'd shown more kindness to Reed than anyone else in this godforsaken place.

"Gavin.." Kearney whispered, interrupting Reed's train of thought. Reed's gaze had drifted, and it now returned to the man across from him. Kearney brought his hand to the glass. "Don't think differently of me."

"I can't." Reed concluded like it was an easy decision. He shrugged and bit into his peeled orange, slurping the juices, then he forced a half smile to his face. "I decided that all that shit didn't matter, remember?"

"I appreciate it," Kearney said with a nod of his head and a soft smile that could have ripped anyone's heart out. Paired with the way he averted his eyes so that his lashes were low against his pale cheeks, Reed was all but stricken helpless.

"I haven't exactly been given the benefit of the doubt for some time, as you might imagine," Kearney added.

"Yeah well.. even if I did think you had malicious intent–" Reed paused to knock on the glass. "You're in there."

The declaration of Kearney's entrapment fell entirely flat, however.

"Hm," Kearney hummed, folding his fingers beneath his chin in a thoughtful way while one of those sneaky smiles curved the corners of his lips. "That might not always be the case." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Reed blurted. He wouldn't admit that his initial response was a cold chill. He also wouldn't admit to how quickly his gut instinct was stamped down by a surge of excitement.

Of course, Kearney refused to clarify. Instead, he nodded to the nearby mop bucket. "Get back to work," he said. "Your lunchbreak is well over."

He must have been teasing Reed for the sake of getting a reaction out of him. Reed let out a disappointed huff. "T.V. time?" He asked.

"Not today. I have a new book to read," Kearney replied. "How about the radio instead."

"Works for me." Reed bent down to tap at the glass. The cat had wandered over and was squawking out a meow for attention. She made an attempt to sniff Reed's probing finger, then when she couldn't, she ignored him and he went off to do his work.

At 2pm, Reed was excited to leave work and hurry to commissary. He slapped the wall of Kearney's cell on his way out, grinning from ear to ear as he kissed the glass and waved goodbye. Kearney got a chuckle out of it, peeping over his book to watch the lovestruck goofball outside.

He arrived a little late to get a good place in line. Manfred had already made it through and was nowhere to be seen. For today, though, Reed was capable of wringing some patience from somewhere deep inside.

Once his turn came around, Reed ordered the full list of goods that he'd prepared: A tape player, an electric shaver, a package of seran wrap, a ten pack of bic pens, a bundle of plain, white candles and a can of hair grease.

The hair grease was a substitution for the baby oil. He'd learned from further discussions with the tatted old man that the oil was used to make the ink and the consistency of the hair grease would make for better burning.

Reed had also saved some money on substitutions, so he purchased some food, more cakes, a jar of instant coffee for himself so he could stop bumming off of Manfred, and a box of latex gloves that he figured he'd need for doing tattoo work.

Reed tried not to make it apparent that he'd just purchased a couple of expensive items on his way back to his cubical to stash everything. As for getting his machine together, he'd fuss with it all later.

Reed hurried out to the yard and spent what remained of the hour walking and talking with Kearney as usual. The unbidden revelations that Kearney's lawyer had spewn earlier didn't change their interactions at all. Things were still perfectly natural.

The COs were so used to seeing them standing at the fence now, none ever bothered with them anymore.

Before yard time was done, the two inmates stopped and stood together, bringing their hands to the fence to touch. Reed held tight to Kearney's hands, lacing his fingers with the other man's. 

It left Reed feeling as though something heavy was hiding beneath his sternum. The discomfort and dissatisfaction were just additional factors on top of the embarrassment of feeling like such a goddamn schoolgirl all the time.

He wanted more than this and there was no sufficiently tough way to go on any longer, bearing it.

"Fuck," Reed spat, frustration combusting spontaneously inside him. He bit at his lip. There was still a numb patch from where it had been busted before.

"What's wrong?" Kearney asked. He seemed genuinely confused.

Reed shook his head, face crinkling in a scowl, his cheeks turning the same shade of red that they did whenever his rage overcame him. 

"Nothing," he growled. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. Okay, yeah, this was a temper flare up. He took a very deep breath. 

"I know you were just trying to tease me earlier when you said that you wouldn't always be behind a fence, or a pane of glass," Reed said, rolling his shoulders in the hopes of loosening up. "I guess having the idea in my head only served to make it that much clearer that.. this is the most we'll ever get."

Reed sighed, eyes turned aside, voice tight in his throat. "..and that's not okay with me."

Taking a risk, Reed moved closer to the fence, letting his body press entirely against it. His neck bent softly, resting his face against the woven steel. Kearney could have kissed him as easily as he could shank him and do real damage.

He didn't do either. 

"I'd give any-fucking-thing to touch you, without this damn fence in the way," Reed lamented, his tone as heavy as his heart, his eyes searching Kearney's face for any sign that he was in equally needful desperation.

Kearney just smiled, so damn composed as always. If this was killing him too, it was a demise that he was meeting unflinchingly. He brought his cuffed hands to the fence, fingertips pushing through and cupping Reed's face between them.

"You know," he began, letting out a quiet chuckle. "You have quite the habit of turning bitterly hopeless whenever you can't have something that you desperately desire. How ever did you become so spoiled?"

Reed's eyes scrunched shut, his face wrinkling into a snarl. "Fuck you," he spat, his hands gripping the chainlink painfully tight.

"Shh," Kearney cooed. He leaned closer, letting his own face touch the fence. Reed could feel the warmth from his skin, and the tickle of those little pieces of hair, falling against his forehead. 

"If you'll recall," Kearney whispered his words, like a sweet secret, "I found a way to give you what you wanted last time, didn't I?"

Kearney's fingers scratched lightly at Reed's stubbled chin, holding the man's face in his hands in silence. Reed opened his eyes, his gaze holding contact with Kearney, searching for an answer as to whether he'd uttered a sincere promise or a comforting lie.

Reed's eyes were all the more gray when he was sad.

The chime finally ended yard time, separating Reed and Kearney for the evening. 

Reed was so depressed that night, he didn't have the motivation to fuss with his commissary items. He supposed the tattoo guns could wait a day longer. He worked on designs in his notepad instead. He listened to Manfred ramble on about something. He made himself a cup of coffee. It didn't raise his spirits much but he supposed it was a comfort.

He was so incredibly fuckin' angry at the very same time. The pounding in his temples hadn't gone away, and eventually left him with a headache on top of pure exhaustion.

He hated himself for having all these goddamn feelings. He knew it was rubbish, it was garbage. If he weren't locked inside this concrete hell with all of the most unpleasant people imaginable, he wouldn't be flinging his heart at the feet this man, this man on death row.

This man; apparently a clinical psychopath.

Reed immediately felt guilty for that thought.

The next morning, Reed had breakfast: a packet of plain cream of wheat, a boiled egg, another one of those expired cups of fruit, a slice of white bread and a carton of milk. He got a little creative, dumping the fruit into the cream of wheat and cutting the egg up, then folding it into the bread slice.

Things weren't completely terrible, because his stomach wasn't so empty this morning that it felt like it was digesting itself. He had that big lunch yesterday to thank. He also had a leftover burger that he could eat later today. It was probably a little soggy but it would still taste delicious.

Oh, and because mornings now meant seeing Kearney soon, Reed successfully perked up like spring growth after the rain. 

It hadn’t even been a week since Reed started his new job and already he couldn't comprehend how he was even surviving before. Bussing to work every day, breaking his back in miserable, lonely silence, and only seeing Kearney for a single hour each day.

Reed hurried to work when he finished breakfast. He pushed his mop bucket and supplies down to the DR block. He went straight to Kearney's cell, only to find that–

It was empty.

What?

But why? Was something wrong?

Reed set to work sweeping the corridor. He'd done two passes up and down the hall with the broom before he noticed that there was a CO posted outside of the showers with a chair pulled up like he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. 

That was different. 

Reed put his broom away, and took a small tub of items that he used to clean the shower area, walking over like he was going in.

The CO stopped him, of course. Reed could hear the tap running just inside the doorway and he swallowed in nervous excitement.

"I'm just doing my job," Reed said with an unassuming shrug. 

The CO, scrolling on his cellphone, didn't even look up. "No funny business," he warned, allowing Reed to pass, even so.

Reed strode into the showers, turning the corner, steam already hitting his face. The first sight which met his eyes was that of Kearney's naked backside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, everyone! How about that ending, huh? ;) The next chapter is definitely going to be exciting!   
> And what did you all think about Nathan's lawyer and the things he revealed about Nathan? Does it change anyone's opinions about him?
> 
> Also, thank you all for being understanding and encouraging about my new job. It's going pretty good so far, I'm still just super sleepy haha! I appreciate you all! <3
> 
> Check out my social media~  
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
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	12. Chapter 12

Reed strode into the showers, turning the corner with steam already hitting his face as he did. The first sight which met his eyes was that of Kearney's naked backside.

The man's entire body was bared beneath the spray, his pale skin streaked with a pink flush from the heat of the tap. He stood in a small stall which had no door, and he was held in place by a waterproof-coated chain around his waist. He had a bit of slack with which to move around in the stall, but not enough that he could unfasten the chain.

Reed took a few quiet steps closer, breathless at the sight before him. Yet despite the subtlety of Reed’s gait, Kearney heard his approach and tensed slightly as he realized that he was no longer alone.

"Gavin Reed," Kearney spoke aloud, the steady purr of his voice resonant in the surrounding acoustics. He glanced back, over his shoulder; his glasses weren't on his face, of course not. "Is this satisfactory? Is this unguarded enough to sooth your angst?"

He wasn't technically unguarded, however.

"The CO, outside," Reed spoke softly. It was enough for him to be heard over the spray, but hopefully not enough to alert the CO in question.

"He won't do anything at all, so long as we keep it down." Kearney had that sneaky smile on his face. He strained against the chain very slightly, trying to turn more in Reed's direction. It seemed he wanted to look the other man over anew, as though seeing him without a barrier standing between them might’ve produced a completely new, pristine image. Either that, or he was struggling without his glasses; Reed couldn’t be certain.

"I've lived here long enough to know who will look the other way,” Kearney reassured, his tone warmly beckoning, drawing Reed a small pace nearer.

"Oh," Reed replied dimly, words a bit lost to him as he went ever closer. He didn't disguise the way his eyes wandered– Kearney wouldn't be here like this if he didn't want Reed longingly gazing at his beautiful, naked body, right?

His wide shoulders tapered into a slim figure; narrow hips and long legs. He was very drained of body fat as to be expected, but he still had muscle in his back and shoulders. He had the body of a dancer, strong but slightly underweight.

"Say something more than 'Oh,'" Kearney said with a little laugh, combing one hand through his damp hair and brushing it back from his face. The waves tightened to loose curls when it was wet and the water turned it an inky black color.

"It’s just.. we don't have the best history of happily surprising each other," Reed muttered with a nervous, breathy chuckle, not taking his eyes off the image of Kearney while he slowly set his cleaning supplies aside. "..so I can't help but expect shit to go wrong at any moment."

"I see.” Kearney nodded, maintaining the grin spread across his lips and the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he struck a teasing, playful note in the way he spoke. "I was beginning to believe all that talk about wanting to touch me had been for show."

"Oh, it wasn't," Reed assured him, perfectly sincere.

"Good." Kearney reached up and turned the shower head to one side, diverting the spray and letting it pelt the wall of the stall. "Come here," he beckoned. "I wanted to show you something."

Reed swallowed in a nervous kind of anticipation and awe. Kearney, being stripped to his bare skin, didn’t exactly have many places to tuck away anything too surprising, so Reed’s hope was that this mysterious ‘something’ turned out to be not-so-mysterious, but plenty intimate and pleasurable. He truly wanted nothing more than to be given reason to get the knees of his jumpsuit soaking wet.

Reed closed in at last, stepping into the stall and taking care not to slip on the wet tile. His eyes followed the chain that held Kearney; it was blocking his entry a bit, sprawling across the stall from wall to wall, with a very slight slack, effectively keeping Kearney mostly in the middle.

"Go under it." Kearney held the chain up a bit and Reed nodded, ducking himself beneath it as instructed. He then straightened and turned to face the other man. Every inch of Kearney's skin was exposed, begging Reed's hands to wander.

It was Reed's gaze that explored first, however, becoming distracted by a few very obvious details: sprawling along the sides of Kearney's shoulders were some very long, straight keloid scars. The flesh was reddish and raised, and puckered to the point that they were difficult to miss.

And those weren't the only ones. He had similar scars at his elbows, along the sides of his thighs, his knees, then one that curved around his waist, to his back.

Kearney easily noticed where Reed's eyes had stopped and commented with the kind of speed that made his self-consciousness fully clear. "They're ugly, I know,” he muttered in a defeated way.

"No, they're not." Reed said immediately, brow furrowed at the thought that he had offended this ethereal man with his curious gazes. The scars were definitely surprising and obviously surgical in nature, and they filled Reed’s mind with a flurry of questions, as most mysteries surrounding Kearney did, but they certainly weren’t outright ugly.

"They're pretty badass, actually," Reed commented, with a small, honest smile. 

"Perhaps.." Kearney was smiling, despite the apparent embarrassment at his tattered flesh. His hair had fallen against his forehead in softly dripping waves and his eyes were downcast. "But this one is my favorite," he said, pointing to indicate a particular scar.

Reed followed Kearney’s gesture to his bare hip, above the bone; there was a small, pinkish mark there that was flat compared to the rest. He laughed, muffling it with one hand. "Yeah, the one I gave you,” Reed said. Cautiously, he outstretched his hand to touch the other man, his thumb tracing the mark. "I'm sorry about that."

"I can't regret it, myself." Kearney stated, calm and overly casual about the mark, despite that his numerous scars appeared to otherwise be a source of great shame. He reached for his nearby washcloth, wetting it in the hot, running tap, before wringing it.

"So uhh.. is it okay to ask what the scars are from?" Reed probed while he watched Kearney fuss with the cloth. It was harmless curiosity and with how forthcoming Kearney had been yesterday, it was worth a shot to see if he would choose to continue.

"You may," Kearney answered with ease. Then, without any explanation, he draped the washcloth over Reed's face, patting it with his hand. "Leave that."

"Okay," Reed hummed in audible confusion, laughing in that stupid, nervous way he did when he didn’t know what else to do. "You trying to waterboard me or something?"

"Do you want to hear about the scars or not?" Kearney replied a little less patiently. It shut Reed’s complaints up without any further effort, as Reed quickly barked out the word, "Yes," like an obedient dog.

"I was in an accident when I was much younger– nothing too exciting to talk about, just a car accident." Kearney explained, his voice entirely neutral, despite the subject matter. Reed could hear him fiddling with something but he couldn't see what it was. "It was the same accident that claimed my parents' lives."

"That majorly sucks, I'm sorry." Reed said, muffled and blind beneath the cloth. It was difficult to express sympathy when he felt so silly, though. "Can I take this off?"

"No. It's relaxing, leave it,” Kearney stated in a light-hearted whisper, so perfectly characteristic of this secret moment of soft, vulnerable intimacy that they were sharing. It was gentle and utterly disarming.

"Okay..” Reed sighed in resignation, unable to deny the other man this whim. Perhaps he owed him, too, for drawing back the veil ever so slightly from his normally enigmatic being. “So, the accident?"

"A car struck us on the side where I was seated at quite a high speed. Our car was knocked into oncoming traffic and a transfer truck collided with it," Kearney recounted the awful event in a precise, matter of fact way, like his mind held it with withdrawn clarity. "I was quite severely mangled. I had shattered bones in every one of my limbs. I suffered major internal damage. But my brother– he came out of it completely unscathed."

"Jeez, what a lucky bastard," Reed groaned.

"That's always been his luck, it seems," Kearney hummed in dismal annoyance. "Alright, take it off."

As prompted, Reed pulled the damp cloth away from his face. Yet the moment that his vision was returned, he was met with the unexpected sight of sharp, glinting steel. He sucked in a startled breath, pressing his body back into the corner. 

"Jesus, what the f–"

"Do you know what this is?" Kearney asked with a sly smile, holding the object close enough to threaten. "It’s a straight razor, an old-fashioned shaving method. The blade is tedious to maintain, but it is superior."

Kearney drew the razor back a bit, steel blue eyes admiring the finely honed, cutting edge. "Elijah swears by these– that's how I got started using one. It wasn't allowed, of course, so he had to sneak it in for me. He may be an unbearably pretentious hipster pseudo-intellectual, but he was unfortunately not wrong."

"Kearney–" Reed muttered, holding perfectly still, eyes glazed like a deer in the headlights.

"Nathan," Kearney corrected him before reaching out and taking hold of Reed by the chin. His fingertips smoothed over Reed's long stubble, feeling the roughness of it. His gaze unflinchingly held Reed's own, absorbing the unspoken panic on the glassy surface, all while he wore a soft smile. "You're a very scruffy man, Gavin Reed. Relax and let me treat you. I think you could use the pampering."

Reed swallowed, turning a bit wild-eyed and trying desperately to hide it. He glanced toward the door, then back to the wet, naked man directly before him, suddenly brushing thick lather onto his face with a badgerhair brush.

When Reed's face was slathered with shaving cream, Kearney pushed his head back, bringing the glinting razor against the lowest part of Reed's neck where there was stubble growth.

"Try not to move too much," he said with a little chuckle. It was a soft, warm sound to offset the way the cool blue of his eyes reflected the razor while he watched himself work. "We wouldn't want your throat to end up looking like your nose, right?"

The blade swiped against Reed's skin. It was cold against him and moved so smoothly. There was hardly any feeling of resistance as it bared his skin of hair, unlike with the razors he normally used; it was incredibly sharp. Kearney rinsed the blade after the first swipe, wiped it on the towel he'd taken from Reed's face, then brought it back to Reed's neck.

"I always think of it this way– there's nothing quite like the feeling of sharp steel pressed to your pulse to remind you that you're alive and drawing breath," Kearney idly spoke in Reed's silence, every word dripping with his usual charm. "Wouldn't you agree?"

While he rinsed the razor again, he gave Reed a look, playful yet cunning, his lips gently curved, his eyes narrowed slightly. Kearney finished Reed's neck with another couple of slow, clean swipes, then moved onto his face, gently turning his head to one side. 

"You're so quiet," Kearney commented, his voice soft velvet, whispered almost directly against Reed's ear. "I wonder what you must be thinking? Tell me, please."

"Why are you doing this?" Reed choked out, voice tight in incredible fear, his Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous swallow.

"You mean you couldn't assume that my motivation was simply to fuck with you?" Kearney said, his tongue turning snide and sharp, his nose wrinkling into a soft snarl. He let out a humorless kind of laugh, his tone darkening as he added, "Or worse."

Actually, that was exactly what Reed feared was the motivation behind this. He clenched his eyes shut, suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of condensation and sweat gathering against his brow and rolling downward, as well as the flutter of his pulse, running as rapidly as Reed himself would’ve liked to, were he not frozen in place, with his life in the hands of this likely very dangerous man.

"Nathan, please," he muttered, an audible tremor to his voice.

"Shhh. Don't start begging me for mercy," Kearney reprimanded, his disappointed lack of sympathy glaringly clear in every sharp syllable he spoke. "You can fear for your life without completely emasculating yourself."

And so, with silence being the only thing potentially saving him, Reed shut his mouth. 

Could he call for the CO? Yeah right– like Kearney said, he knew who would look the other way. And even if the guard came running, Kearney could still slaughter Reed in that short time and it wasn't like he had anything more to lose. He couldn't be given the death sentence twice.

"Do you know what happened to Dahmer in prison, Gavin?" Kearney finally asked once he was nearly finished, interrupting Reed's panicking train of thought. He sharply turned Reed’s face to the other side, slowly and carefully swiping the blade down along his cheek.

"No," Reed replied, toneless, automatic. The other man smiled and nodded in a knowing way.

"He was alone in the shower area of the prison gym with two other inmates," Kearney explained, his tone suddenly softened back to the usual calm. "One had a steel pipe concealed in his clothes. They were unsupervised for twenty minutes, but in that little time, Dahmer was bludgeoned to death. And that wasn't even the first attempt on his life– it was simply the last one. Do you understand my point?"

"I'm not sure," Reed answered. To be fair, it was difficult to find underlying messages in anecdotes while scared shitless.

"People in my position are targets," Kearney asserted, rinsing the blade for the final time. He clutched Reed's face in the tight grip of one hand, so that his now smooth cheeks were squished between Kearney's thumb and his other fingertips. "Other inmates aim to kill us for revenge, sport, for fun, for reputation. They kill us just to be able to say that they did it and nobody ever feels bad about it," he said, steady and serious. 

As Kearney spoke, his grip on Reed loosened. He replaced the previously hard touch with a gentle caress, softly brushing his knuckles along Reed's cheek. He then wiped the excess shaving cream away with the washcloth.

"I've elected to place a great deal of trust in you, Gavin," Kearney cooed, so sweet yet also in dire warning. "But I want to make it clear– I may be naked and chained up, but don't ever fool yourself into believing that I'm completely vulnerable."

Reed took a relieved breath, his body still quaking with the adrenaline rushing through him. "You could've just said that, asshole," he growled, trying to keep his voice low.

"It wouldn't have been as effective, I'm afraid," Kearney replied with a cheeky, little titter, folding his straight razor and tucking it back into its hiding place. 

"Christ, I nearly fuckin’ pissed myself," Reed groaned, pressing his palms over his face; it was incredibly smooth now.

"How cute," Kearney breathed. Reed could practically hear the curl at the corners of the other man's lips. Then he saw it too, as Kearney peeled Reed's hands away from his face; that sneaky, beautiful smile.

The chain attached to Kearney creaked and rattled as he pushed closer, his body pinning Reed in the corner, his fingers trailing down the other man's neck, to the collar of his orange jumpsuit. He unbuttoned the first few snaps, exposing Reed's well-developed pectorals. Kearney slid one hand inside, palm rubbing gently atop Reed's breast, fingertips smoothing over the course hair growing there. 

"Your heart is beating so fast," he purred. He could feel it pounding, hard and rapid beneath his touch.

"Nathan," Reed whispered, olive gray eyes fixating on the other man's lips. 

Kearney read his stare, tilting his head in curiosity and smiling. "Would you like to deliver on the kissing you promised, then?"

"Fuck yes."

Reed's hands went unabashedly to Kearney's hips, pulling him closer, holding tightly. Kearney strained the chain holding him, bending over Reed, hands firm against his chest, holding him flat against the wall.

Their lips pushed together, tongues eagerly touching, hands grasping, tugging. Another one of Reed's snaps popped undone and Kearney's hands ventured further, fingertips grazing Reed's nipples as his palms drifted downward. Reed let out a choked breath, shuddering against the other man.

Kearney's arms dipped into Reed's jumpsuit, twining around the man in his grasp as they kissed. His hands held tight against Reed's back, scratching lightly at the form of his shoulder blades, enough to leave pink marks behind. 

Reed's touch was almost cautious, like he expected to be chastised at any moment. His palms moved slowly upward, touching every inch unveiled to him. Kearney's skin was still wet from the tap and cool to the touch. His hands slid upward, his arms wrapping around the other man's neck, holding onto him as their mouths opened together, tongues lazily mingling, wet and warm and so soft.

Reed's fingers combed through the other man's hair, his other palm cupping his face, thumb tracing the shape of one cheekbone. Reed tilted his head to one side, his nose brushing Kearney's, breath inhaled from one and exhaled into the other. Their bodies came close, bare chests pressed together, heaving with excited breath.

Reed could feel Kearney, semi-hard against the cloth of his jumpsuit and he moaned softly into the other man's mouth. Kearney kissed the sound into silence, his forehead resting against Reed's.

"Let me blow you," Reed whispered against the other man's lips. Kearney let out a soft chuckle, kissing Reed in a way that was doting and affectionate.

"There's no time for that," he cooed. "The CO will come in to take me to my cell soon."

"Fuck," Reed hissed, nose wrinkling in a snarl. His hands hadn't let go of Kearney. He pulled him in again, kissing his lips which were reddened from pressure and friction.

"Be patient," Kearney muttered, the tip of his tongue tracing Reed's lips as they kissed, his hands coming out from where they were hidden to touch Reed's face, to appreciate the job he'd done. "So smooth," he purred, kissing Reed's shaven cheek, the curve of his jaw, the skin of his neck where the excited thump of his pulse resided.

"There will be other times," Kearney promised, bending his head down to press his lips against the other man's collarbones, while Reed tipped his head back against the wet tile, exposing the skin of his neck to Kearney now in trusting vulnerability. He was rewarded with more tender kisses up and down his neck.

When Kearney straightened again to look Reed in the face, Reed's lids were heavy over his hazel gray eyes, his brow slightly furrowed in need that had been denied, and his lips were apart in gentle breath. 

"This was just a taste, something to reassure you and take the edge off of your appetite." Kearney smiled with lips that were wet from all the kisses he'd given the other man. "There's no need to rush. You and I are going to be here together for a long time–" He reached to comb back the strands of Reed's hair that had gotten wet. "And if I give you everything in one sitting, how ever will I keep your attention?"

"Also," Kearney added, "You should try to get your hands on protection for next time."

"I don't need–"

"Shh," Kearney silenced Reed with another kiss, moaning softly at the delicious sensation of Reed's lips molded against his own. "Voice down."

"I don't need protection to suck you off," Reed whispered, one hand inching down Kearney's body, making a slow trail toward his waiting cock. It was already flush to Reed's body, so what difference did it make if it was fisted in his hand, instead?

"Is that always your policy?" Kearney whispered in disappointment, tsking at the other man. Reed's tight grip ensnaring him elicited a quiet gasp that momentarily stilled Kearney's tongue, however. Kearney's eyes clenched shut and his hips rocked unconsciously into the touch, but even so, he finished his previous thought. "Take it from me, you shouldn't be so reckless. Get the protection, Gavin."

"Alright, fine," Reed relented, a sly grin of his own curving his lips, barely showing the points of his teeth.

"Good," Kearney hummed, letting out a breathy sound before he reached down to brush Reed's hand away. "Now get out."

"Wh– ..I feel like I just got here," Reed muttered, bending to kiss Kearney's chest, palms rough against the other man's skin. Kearney let out a hum of delight, hand rubbing at the back of Reed's head, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp.

"I know. I know," Kearney said, petting at Reed's hair while the other man kissed his way up Kearney's neck, coming to his lips again. Kearney kissed him back with sweet passion, with longing begging to be fed, humming a quiet moan against to other man's lips. When he drew back, he breathed the words, "Do as I say now."

Reed sighed, scowling like he was forever giving away his most precious treasure, then he complied at last.

It was difficult as hell to go about scrubbing the showers with the sight of Kearney, naked, right there, but Reed did just that, uncomfortably hard in his pants all the while.  
He reached into his jumpsuit to adjust himself, while Kearney turned the tap back on himself, changing the temperature so that it was very cold, melting away the proudly stirred erection that had previously been on display.

Less than ten minutes later, the CO came in to take Kearney back to his cell, as predicted. Kearney had toweled off by that point and had his clothes half on. He had to wait until he was unhitched in order to get his jumpsuit pulled all the way up and snapped. His hands were then cuffed in front of himself, leaving him capable of carrying his shower items back to his cell.

Reed watched it all, then finished up. It hardly even registered as he did the work, his body on autopilot, his head swimming in thoughts of all that had just occurred.

He knew one thing for certain; when it came time for lights out tonight, and he was finally alone with himself, it was going to be more intense than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that, friends? I have to say, this was one of my favorite chapters to write. I enjoyed the tension, and the flash of aggression from Kearney, as well as the soft note that follows. So, I have to ask you all how you felt about this scene! Was Kearney justified or not in his intimidation of Gavin? Let me know! :)
> 
> Also, I'm behind in comment replies, but I am trying to make time for it. I have another story that I've been trying to update, but once I've finished that, I'll catch up on replies. Hang in there until then, friends. I appreciate you all! <3
> 
> If you enjoy my work here, check out my social media!  
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
> [TUMBLR](https://banishfics.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing that Manfred did upon laying eyes on Reed that evening was laugh. He stood on the threshold of their cubicle having his chuckle and watching Reed tinker with something.

"Damn Reed," he said through his pitchy giggles, "You've reverted to your larval form, huh?"

Reed glanced up from his work, half annoyed, half dubious. "You're Williams's twink. How the fuck are you in any place to judge?"

"Let me feel it," Manfred insisted, seating himself next to Reed on the lower bunk.   
Reed's hands were occupied by one steaming electric kettle and one latex glove which he was slowly filling with warm water; as such, he couldn't afford much more than a raised elbow to defend himself against Manfred.

Manfred rubbed one palm against Reed's smoothly shaven cheek, then he grabbed Reed's chin between clutching fingertips. "Damn, that is so smooth," he said. "How did you get it so close?"

Reed turned his head sharply to one side. "Jesus, what is this? A fuckin’ Gillette commercial. Unless this is sponsored, you better get your damn hands off me."

"And if it is sponsored?" Manfred asked with a snort.

"Fuckin' pay me," Reed answered, setting the kettle aside and knotting the opening of the latex glove in order to create a warm, hand-shaped water balloon. He laid it aside in his bunk alongside a second, similar balloon.

Manfred paused for a second, his laughter dying off. He reached out to take hold of Reed's chin again, turning his head so their gazes met, despite Reed's bitter noises of protest.

"You okay?" Manfred asked, squinting in suspicion. "You're starting to get that look that you get when you're going through some shit."

Reed's gut reaction was to wrench his face from Manfred's grasp, then drive an elbow into the other man's side to regain a comfortable amount of space. His secondary, verbal response was to tell Manfred to fuck off and mind his own damn business.

Reed committed to the physical reaction, but withheld the latter. Instead, he said, "I've been through some shit, yeah." That admission came alongside a fresh image of Kearney in Reed's mind, his gaze ice cold, his pale skin vibrant under the florescent lighting, his hand holding a blade to Reed's throat.

Reed had experienced utter fear for his life in the same short hour that he'd felt complete and total adoration and brimming, blind sexual desire. In short, his mental state was in tangled knots but it hadn't stopped him from wanting more.

"..but it's nothing to worry about," he concluded. "Nothing any worse than your thing with Williams anyway."

Manfred scoffed and crossed his arms, smiling while he shook his head at Reed's cagey dismissal. "Alright, sure," he said. He went quiet for another minute, dark eyes watching Reed's effort with noticeable curiosity. 

Reed was practically counting down the damn seconds before Manfred's nosey ass realized what he was constructing. When Reed laid his towel out flat on top of his mattress, then carefully placed the two water balloons on top, with one empty glove sandwiched between, everything clicked in Manfred's mind.

"Holy shit, you're making a Fifi." Manfred blurted, his words accompanied by further snickering. Reed swore to God, if he were sitting quietly, not doing shit, Manfred would still find a reason to have a laugh.

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," Reed said with a grin, turning a sly look in Manfred's direction and giving him a wink. "But word to the wise, don't go to bed without some fuckin’ earplugs."

Reed rolled the warm water balloons up inside the towel, pulling the opening of the empty glove out just enough to fold it around the towel encircling it. The end result was a tightly rolled length of cloth, with a latex pucker at one end and a warm, inviting inside. 

All Reed needed to do was add some extra rubber bands around the outside for tightness and pump some lotion into his creation, and it would be ready for fun.

Minutes later, another man appeared to darken the doorway of Reed and Manfred's shared cubicle. The tall, broad expanse of Todd Williams lazily leaning himself against the cement opening caused Reed to tense where he sat.

"Aren't you two cute," he derided with a crooked smile, looking on with glazed, blue eyes. His attention went almost straight to Reed's handiwork, and he let out a chuckle. "Careful not to hump that thing too hard or you'll pop a balloon and end up with a scalded fuckstick. My little pussycat here learned that the hard way."

Manfred's head dropped, his face beginning to flush in what was probably a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Reed might've laughed at his expense, if not for the source of the mockery.

Williams made a sniffing noise and rubbed his nose, then he gestured to Manfred. "I'll see you later tonight. In my bunk, after lights out."

"Yes, Todd," Manfred answered in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"And you," Williams pointed, waggling his finger at Reed. "We're gonna have a talk soon, you and me. You had better have some good news for me."

When Williams was finally gone, a tense silence hovered over the cellmates. It was Reed who decided to break it, if only to keep Manfred's attention off him and his business.

"Pussycat, huh?" 

"I'm going to kill my mother for naming me 'Leo,’” Manfred spat, sounding ironically like an angry, feral cat.

"Hm," Reed hummed, nodding. "Guess you won't need the earplugs tonight after all."

"Fuck you, Reed."

Lights out came soon after the conclusion of that awkward exchange. Reed and Manfred stood for the nightly counts, then climbed into bed. Ten minutes after the lights were shut off, Manfred shuffled down from his bunk and quietly left the cubical.

The kid worked hard for his fix, Reed had to give him that.

Reed didn't waste a second of his cellmate's absence. He peeled back the sheets where he'd been keeping his little 'friend' warm, like a nesting bird with eggs. 

He was still dressed in his jumpsuit, but he had the top pulled down so it hung around his hips. He wore a t-shirt to bed, but always kept his jumpsuit half on, lest he'd feel much too naked and vulnerable.

For now, he kicked the jumpsuit down, along with the boxers he wore underneath, exposing his bare ass to the dim shadow of his cubical. With hasty hands, he took the bottle of lotion that had been lying ready in his bunk and he pumped it generously into his palm.

Reed's mind had already ventured to the fresh memories of Kearney: his velvet voice, breath hot against Reed's skin, his soft, cool skin, lips eagerly pressed to Reed's own as their tongues greeted one another like old friends.

God, it was just kissing, but somehow the aching terror that preceded it had brought on a spike of adrenaline that sweetened the entire deal. Reed shouldn't have enjoyed that, he shouldn't have put a positive spin on it, but he couldn't help himself. 

He moaned, unabashed, from deep in his chest while he palmed himself with the lotion. Reed's eyes were clenched tightly shut, his focus fixating on thoughts of Kearney's body flush to his, and the way he felt, semi-hard and rubbing against him. 

Once Reed was lubed up and painfully hard, he tossed his pillow down in the middle of his bunk, propping his homemade fleshlight on top. He rubbed a bit more lotion into the latex pucker, then he bent himself over it, pushing into the tight, warm space.

"Ahh.. fuck," he choked out upon his first few eager thrusts, all manner of noises freeing themselves from his throat, from guttural grunts to whines that he stifled by biting down against his own battered knuckles.

Reed kept one hand on the prison fleshlight to hold it steady while his hips rocked against it, his entire body rigid while he desperately fucked the only hole available to him.

Slick, wet sounds came from the device with each thrust, chorused by the rapid, excited breath heaving from Reed's chest. 

He was remembering the way he held onto Kearney's hips, the way he wanted to kneel before him and let the other man fuck his throat without restraint, if he so desired. He wanted to take the taste of the other man inside his cheeks and savor it. He wanted all of Kearney driven past his lips and Reed imagined the way the other man would sigh in delight when he swallowed him down.

He would hold Kearney captive there in his throat. Reed would moan at the feeling of the other man's palm holding his head down, burying his nose in that tidy thatch of pubic hair that was black against the pale of Kearney's skin. He would let out a choked groan when at last he felt Kearney's cum, hot and thick, sliding down his throat.

"Oh– oh fuck," Reed grunted, one fist curling into the thin sheet. His hips bucked hard into the wet, welcoming heat, his back a perfect arch, his bare asscheeks tightening with each desperate thrust.

"Nn–" he muttered, burying his face in his cot. He was humping into the fifi so hard that the entire bunk was shaking, and yet his own voice was so loud to his own ears. The over-eager heat in his groin was tingling down to his toes, pleasure bursting through him as he came at last.

"Nathan, Nathan, fuck," Reed screamed into the sheet while he shot his load deep inside the homemade fleshlight. He rode through his orgasm, tilting his head back at last to gasp for breath. 

Reed rolled onto his side, his pillow practically clenched between his legs, his cock buried in the warm, latex cavern, now brimming full with his cum. He lazily rocked his hips into it, holding it in place while he pulled his pillow up to be clenched near his chest.

When Reed was spent and softened, he let go of the soiled fifi, and laid still, curled on one side, breathing long and slow with his cheek and chest cuddled into his pillow. 

He closed his eyes, pulling the sheet over himself like an afterthought. His nose smooshed into the soft but semi-flat surface of the pillow and he inhaled deeply, wrapping his arms around it as he did.

He didn't know why he expected to smell anyone but himself there. He didn't know why he expected to smell Kearney instead.

He would've given anything to feel Kearney curled up beside him, as relaxed and awash in blissful satisfaction as Reed was, himself. It was maybe just a melancholy longing, but just imagining it sent Reed to a contented slumber.

The next day, after breakfast, Reed went happily off to work in the quiet DR cellblock. When he arrived, Kearney was still lazing about with his nose stuck in a book, so Reed left him to it. 

They had established a signal to indicate when Kearney wanted to be left alone, sure, but Reed could mostly tell when the other man wasn't ready to socialize. He tried not to make a pest of himself, when he could help it.

By lunchtime, Kearney had moved to his desk, but he was still completely silent, slumped over his reading with his forehead clutched in his palm and brown waves splayed over his fingers.

"You're pretty absorbed in that," Reed mentioned aloud, coming to stand outside of the glass and peeking in. He had a sandwich in hand; a patty melt made with one of those soy patties that apparently nobody purchased from the supermarket. It was still decent.

Kearney straightened as soon as Reed appeared outside of his cell. He closed his eyes, pushing his glasses up on top of his head and rubbing his face. His eyes must have sorely needed a break.

Within the next moment, Kearney turned his steel blue stare in Reed's direction, seemingly looking on him in consideration. Reed wondered what his vision was like without his glasses.

Kearney smiled softly, then finally spoke up. "I have an important decision to make," he said, one hand idly tracing the edges of the book. "I'm contemplating my perspective on the matter. Sometimes stories help by presenting ideas that I hadn't considered."

"Oh yeah? What are you trying to make a decision about?" Reed asked in between a couple of big bites from his sandwich that swelled his cheeks. "Maybe I can help?"

Standing, Kearney stretched and took his book in hand before approaching the glass. "Are you familiar with Norse mythology, Gavin?"

Reed shrugged and made a wavering so-so gesture with one hand. "A bit, I guess," he replied. "Though I mostly associate it with the ABs. They're big into that shit for whatever reason."

Kearney nodded, opening the book and pressing it to the glass to give Reed a peek. "I've been reading this tale about the binding of Fenrir. Do you know of Fenrir?"

"Evidently, he's a giant wolf," Reed commented, studying the illustration at the beginning of the chapter. There was a depiction of a monstrously sized, black wolf in tight restraints. A man was standing before the wolf, with one hand gently poised inside the wolf's snarling maw. 

Overall, it was kind of a neat image, as far as Reed was concerned. Something about it was aesthetically pleasing.

"He is a giant wolf," Kearney confirmed. "He's also the one child of Loki who the gods feared most of all. They believed that one day, he would be capable of aiding in the total destruction of their realm."

Reed quietly nodded as he listened, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"So, because they feared his potential, the Gods reared Fenrir, if only to keep a close eye on him. But only one of them, Tyr, a god of honor and justice, was brave enough to feed the wolf."

Kearney paused for the sake of pointing out the man with his hand in Fenrir's jaws, in the illustration. "It seems to me that Tyr would've been the only one who ever formed a true bond with Fenrir. He was the one who, of all people, Fenrir would have trusted, or maybe even loved, like a brother."

"As the story goes, the Gods had chains forged to bind the wolf up forever. They attempted to trick him into allowing himself to be placed in the chains, but he was suspicious.."

"Not to interrupt, but--" Reed butted in, "You're actually a really good story teller. I mean, just listening to your voice, it's really pleasing." Not to mention, there was also much more emotion and inflection in his tone than usual.

"Thank you," Kearney purred with a sweet, little smile that curved at the corners of his lips.

"Go on," Reed said, bundling the empty wrapper his sandwich had been in as he folded his arms and leaned against the glass. "I'm listening."

"In order to guarantee that he wasn't being tricked, Fenrir asked that someone place their arm in his mouth as he was bound in the chains," Kearney went on. 

Reed watched him closely, observing the way one of Kearney's brows quirked softly as he reached an intriguing plot point. "Surely they wouldn't trick him, if it meant possibly losing an arm, right?" Kearney said. "So Tyr came forward to volunteer, placing his arm in the wolf's mouth as asked. Sure enough, when Fenrir couldn't break free, he bit off Tyr's arm."

Kearney snapped the book shut, and Reed raised his gaze to meet the other man's in questioning. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"So," Reed took a breath, his brow furrowing in renewed confusion. "What's the significance?"

Kearney shook his head, looking down at his hands as he idly turned the book around between his palms. He had an intense, pensive expression, the shadow of something secret buried beneath the surface, his lips pinching tightly shut in his desire to be the sole owner of his own emotions.

And then, he did something he rarely, rarely did: he relented, sharing what was on his mind.

"I can only imagine Fenrir's heartbreak," he breathed. Kearney's grip on the book tightened. "The person he loved and trusted most decided to be the one who placed him in chains forever. Now Fenrir is trapped, unable to move past that moment when it all went wrong; the moment when Tyr betrayed him."

Reed quietly nodded as he soaked in what he was hearing. Unconsciously, he pressed one hand to the glass, an offering, to feel closer to the other man. Kearney answered it by pressing his own hand there in turn.

Reed could tell that there was more to this, but he was starved for context. He would simply have to rely on his own interpretation. 

"Fenrir was going to destroy the world. He was dangerous." Reed said, rolling his shoulders in a weak shrug. "Maybe the alternative was killing him? Tyr helped to bind him to save his life and keep him from hurting anyone. He let Fenrir tear off his arm, to reconcile having to lie to him."

After hearing Reed's explanation, Kearney cocked his head in intrigue, a small, bittersweet smile warming his features. "I think your own sense of fairness and justice is probably better than Tyr's."

All Reed could do was scoff. That was bullshit, but it was a nice thought. If anything, Reed was just another Fenrir: an angry, lone wolf who would bite the hand that fed him and tear off the arm of someone he loved in rage, vengeance, or in rebuke for rightful punishment.

That was beside the point, though.

"I'm still not sure what your actually dilemma is?" Reed asked.

"Hmm," Kearney hummed, moving his glasses back down to his face. "Trust. Reconciliation."

"Okay.." Not only was Reed the last person who could offer useful advice on that topic, Kearney's way of being sparse on details also wasn't helping. Reed cleared his throat, one hand rubbing at the skin of his cheek. "Can you be more specific?"

Kearney's eyes were distant, his jaw tightening as he thought. After a moment, he said, "...Do you think that Tyr forgave Fenrir for taking his arm? Do you think Tyr still makes an effort to love a wolf in chains, or was their relationship always a farce?"

Reed blinked, crossing his arms while he considered the other man's question. It was difficult for Reed not to think of Jude and how he never heard from him again.

He didn't want to make this about that.

"From what you've told me, Tyr knew what would happen when he put his hand in the wolf's mouth," Reed answered. From the context of the story, that much was true. Tyr knew from the beginning what was expected from Fenrir and got involved anyway. "He did what he had to, to keep everyone safe, including Fenrir. It was a willing sacrifice. There's no wrong for him to forgive, not even his lost arm."

When he finished, Reed looked through the clear pane at Kearney: the other man's blue eyes were idly flickering back and forth as he studied Reed's face, a quiet smile on his lips, an expression of thought cast over his features.

"Does that uhh.. Does that help you?" Reed asked, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet as the silence dragged on.

"Not really," Kearney replied, somehow pleasantly brutal about it. "But thank you, Gavin Reed."

Reed managed a laugh alongside the scoff that he let out. He rolled his eyes and slapped the glass. "Alright, well try being less secretive about your shit next time and I'll give you more solid advice."

"I'll have to consider it," Kearney answered, something about his tone holding a sly sound. It probably meant that he wouldn't consider it at all. His eyes lingered on Reed for a moment, then he peered over at the waiting mop bucket. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I do," Reed replied, laughing again. "And since you're trying to run me off now, I'll go. But I wanted to ask something first."

"What's that?"

"I was umm.." Reed's eyes averted suddenly, but they went back to meet the other man's quickly enough. Reed had that cheeky grin spread over his face that rounded his cheeks in a boyish way. "I was thinking about you last night."

Somehow, Kearney hadn't been expecting that. The admission elicited a surprised chuckle from him, then he muttered the words, "I'm sure."

"Yeah, yeah," Reed said, trying to brush off the other man's clear amusement. "But I was thinking– maybe we could.." he trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Maybe we could trade pillowcases?" Reed suggested, the words damn near painful as he said them. He knew perfectly well that he was being a complete, fucking sap. He felt like a schoolboy.

Only he was pretty sure that when he was schoolboy-aged, he was an insensitive little brat with zero emotional development. The desire for closeness was something that puddled up over time and became significant in adulthood.

Reed looked somewhere else as he spoke. "It's not like we'll ever get to sleep together, so maybe this is something we could do, instead?"

The idea was like the patty on Reed's sandwich. It wasn't a great substitute for real meat, but in prison it felt like a goddamn treat.

"That sounds like a fine idea, Gavin," Kearney answered, taking mercy on Reed by shutting him up and keeping him from saying anything stupid. "I should like a reminder that someone out there is thinking of me, when the nights seem.. lonely."

"I cannot tell if you meant that sincerely, or just in a dirty way," Reed muttered, giving the other man a dubious squint.

Kearney chuckled, his smile dimpling one of his cheeks more than the other. He fixed Reed with his intense, beautiful gaze, then he breathed the word, "Both."

Kearney didn't bother waiting for Reed to have his own pillowcase to offer in return. He took his book back to the desk, then he went to his cot, shucking his pillow from its case. Kearney brought the item over to the door slot, and pushed it through, into Reed's eager hands.

Reed thanked Kearney and left him in peace, hurrying off to the shower area instead, to stow his prize. He rinsed up his sandwich bag and stuffed the folded cloth inside, further hiding it inside his brown, paper lunch bag.

It wasn't like this was forbidden, but Reed didn't want to be the one to get a bizarre, pointless rule added to the books. Furthermore, he didn't want anyone else privy to the fact that he was such a mess over this other man.

After work, Reed hid his prize in his bunk and proceeded to the yard. He stashed his own pillowcase in his jumpsuit and delivered it to Kearney, pushing the roll of thin cotton through the chainlink while they walked and talked as they always did.

Kearney wasn't nearly as sheepish as Reed was being about this unorthodox means of intimacy. Upon receiving the other man's pillowcase, he immediately brought it to his nose and took a deep breath, sampling it as though to test, to see if it met his lofty expectations.

In the end, he must have been satisfied, as he quickly tucked the item into his own jumpsuit for safekeeping.

They carried on together until the end of yard time. Things were relaxed and easy, but even so, Reed noticed that Kearney wasn't as engaged as usual. He was distant, drifting in his own head, in thought.

Reed gave him the space he needed and a happy distraction in equal measure.

Later that evening, Reed found himself sketching a couple of new pictures, for practice. The first was of a beautiful, naked man, posed almost coyly in a tiled cell with walls that enclosed him a bit too tightly.

His wet skin was bright against the dim background. Even brighter was the icy stare turned over one shoulder, beckoning a faceless onlooker. Reed was sure that his anatomy could use practice, but the drawing was pleasing enough.

The second image that Reed scribbled down was that of a snarling, black wolf in chains. He sketched it in something closer to his tattoo style, while maintaining elements from the original inspiration.

The wolf's maw was furrowed, mouth gaping to display his teeth and tongue. His figure was strong but malnourished, his chest wide, his waist tapered into a deep curve. 

His great, big paws were pinned together by sprawling chains. His fur was bristled, his ears were pinned back and his bright eyes were glaring in rage, and fear, and perhaps even heartbreak.

Reed felt that it would make a nice gift for Kearney, a quiet offering of support for whatever was troubling him.

When lights out came, Reed unwrapped Kearney's pillowcase like it was goddamn Christmas, stuffing his own pillow into it with unbridled excitement. He laid down to sleep, face pressed into the pillow completely, arms tangled around it. The scent had become concentrated while the material was packaged so that now it effectively surrounded him.

It smelled of the DR block, distinctly different from Reed's own neighborhood. It smelled of the DR showers, Kearney's soap, the aftershave that kept his skin so smooth and soft, and more than anything else, the natural fragrance that came from the oils in his scalp.

It had been something rare for Reed to catch a hint of, with how separated he was from the other man. This did let him to feel a little closer to Kearney, though. It made him happy and he needed that.

And before Reed had the chance to drift to sleep, he freely allowed a thought to occupy space in his mind, a fact which seemed obvious, yet was so complicated, so troubling, and also so lovely for all of its equal bitterness.

In a whisper, Reed issued his confession to the surrounding darkness. 

"I'm in love with him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, friends! I'm here apologizing again, because this update took forever to arrive. I know that you all are very patient and understanding and I super appreciate it! Yeah, I was having a big fiasco with one of my other stories. It had gotten taken down and a bunch of people were sending me messages about it, so I had to take care of that. I also had surgery this past Wednesday, so I'm working and recovering at this very moment, haha~
> 
> ANYway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Gavin really handled some of his tension from the last chapter, huh? And how about his talk with Kearney? What did you all get from that! Let me know, because as you know, I love hearing from you all!
> 
> Have a good day, everyone! Also, this story is up to chapter seventeen on my twitter, so head over there if you can't wait for my slow updates haha~
> 
> If you enjoy my work here, check out my social media!  
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)  
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	14. Chapter 14

Days later, Reed finally set to the task of rigging together his tattoo machines. In the evening, he took off to the prison library with his items in tow, then he tucked himself into the row that wasn't visible to the cameras.

After essentially trashing both the electric shaver and the tape player in order to harvest their motors, Reed used a book on repairing electronics and appliances as a guide, for the sake of creating something new from the scavenged parts.

The motors were attached to a Bic pen, with the ballpoint removed and replaced with a needle that had been made out of a tiny, metal spring. When everything was attached, the spin of the motors rapidly fired the needle up and down.

Reed smiled and marveled at his creations for an extra moment, then hastened to hide them away, smuggling them awkwardly back to his cubical in his pants. He would stash them tomorrow in the DR shower area, where they would be safe from random cubical searches.

The next challenge that Reed needed to tackle in order to establish himself was building a clientele. His antisocial behavior was a detriment to that goal, which he now had to work harder to remedy. He hoped that, in the end, good work would counteract his loner lifestyle.

All he had to do was produce one nice tattoo in order to start getting the word out. Luckily, he already had an idea of how to accomplish that.

With only an hour until lights out, Reed was in his cube, busily working on producing a nice batch of black ink. He set a burning wick into his pot of hair grease, then covered the makeshift candle with a box that he tapped together from leftover cardboard boxes– in this case, Snoball boxes.

Manfred wandered in a bit later, stuffing something– probably red ice– into a bag of washing powder before turning to Reed, with the intent to snoop.

"I'm making tattoo ink," Reed answered Manfred's question before he even had the chance to ask.

"Tattoo ink," he repeated as he bent down next to Reed, evidently trying to figure out how the little grease candle ended up as ink. "Does that uhh.. does that mean that you have a way to apply it?" 

Manfred had an eager grin on his face as he asked. It was a small encouragement for Reed, and he smiled proudly in reply. "Damn right," he answered. "Do you want one? You'd be my first customer, so it's complimentary."

"You? Giving something away for free?" Manfred snorted in laughter, waggling a suspicious finger at his cellmate. "What's the catch?"

"There's no fuckin' catch." Reed swatted Manfred's finger aside. Little prick– he was the one who could never let anyone borrow something without an immediate trade. "But I guess you are obligated to show it off to everyone and tell them all how fuckin' good I am at ink work."

"...I do like your drawings," Manfred said almost sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders and moving to seat himself at the edge of Reed's bunk.

"What would you want?" Reed asked, still fiddling with the ink candle, just to make sure it wouldn't catch fire in the middle of the night. "Tell me and I'll start working on a design."

No answer.

When Reed glanced up at his cellmate, Manfred looked unusually white all of a sudden, and he had his head turned aside, to avoid Reed's eyes. Reed gave Manfred another moment to think about it, getting up to hide his ink candle somewhere out of sight for the evening. 

He needed to let it burn for a few hours at least to get a good batch going and he had to do it without the COs noticing the heat or the smell.

When he turned back to Manfred, the kid looked like he was deep in some kind of flashback.

 

"Well?" Reed blurted with an impatient gesture. Manfred's gaze snapped up so fast, it was almost like he'd forgotten that they'd even been talking. He hesitated for another moment, then with a nervous swallow he blurted, "Hey look– let me tell you something, but you better not say shit to anyone though."

"Who would I tell?" Reed said with a scoff. He would probably tell Kearney if it was that interesting, but it wouldn't go anywhere from there, so it hardly mattered.

"Okay so, when I was a kid, there was this one summer when my Dad actually tried to act like a real father. We were gonna go on vacation and bond or whatever. I got to go on a plane for the first and last time," Manfred began. Reed stood with his arms crossed, listening but unsure of how this story was going to explain Manfred's desired tattoo design.

"I found out later it was because he wanted to introduce me to his other, adopted kid, and have us be BFFs or some shit, but that's beside the point," Manfred recounted. He remembered like it was yesterday, getting off at the airport and meeting up with his 'new sibling,' who'd been in the care of a nanny in the meantime.

The adopted kid– He went by Marcus now– but Manfred remembered two things from that time. The first was Markus's appearance; he looked like a living work of art. A painter's muse. He looked like the kind of child Manfred's father had fucking shopped for.

Marcus had warm, light brown skin and a sprinkle of freckles across his face, and the most striking gaze imaginable. And despite looking like a child model, he was remarkably humble, perhaps even a little withdrawn when he and Manfred first met.

The second thing that Manfred vividly recalled was his outrage. All his life, his father had had nothing to do with him. His father 'wasn't ready' for a child. His father.. didn't even want him. And then, all of a sudden, he did want a kid, but not the one that he'd made himself, no. 

He wanted this new, perfect one that he'd picked out. Manfred was only there as an afterthought.

He let out a sigh and finally continued his story, right as Reed was looking all the more impatient.

"He took us to the beach and to a Sea World, where we saw the shows with the dolphins and whales and shit.." And despite resenting his father and hating this kid that he refused to accept as his brother, Manfred really enjoyed seeing animals he'd only ever seen on TV.

"So, after that, I decided that I wanted to be one of the people who worked with the dolphins."

"What, like a trainer?" Reed asked, a stupid grin on his face.

"Yeah, with the whole wetsuit getup and all that. I just really liked the animals, I guess." 

Not to mention that the trainers had the ability to get these powerful, intelligent creatures to follow their commands. And they did it all, answered by the applause of the crowds.

"After that, though, I eventually got into a fight with my Dad's other kid and my Dad lost interest in me.. again," Manfred concluded. His life sure had gone off track. "Anyway, do you think you could do a dolphin tattoo?"

"I can't believe this shit," Reed said with a cackle, doubling over with laughter while Manfred looked on in confusion. "A prison twink wants a fuckin' dolphin tattoo. You want the twink of the sea tattooed on yourself."

"Oh shut the fuck up, Reed, you asshole," Manfred snapped, kicking one leg out to strike Reed in the knee, but Reed backed off quick enough to avoid it.

"Should it be like.. a dolphin tramp stamp?" Reed continued his mockery.

"Alright. You know what?" Manfred hissed, standing upright in order to cuff Reed in the arm, while Reed laughed and tried to turn away. "Fuck you, just forget it!"

"Wh– no, no, come on Manfred," Reed urged the other, grabbing Manfred by the arm to keep him from walking away. He was still chuckling, but he quickly quieted his laughter. "You know you can't get a fuckin' dolphin tattoo in prison. I'm just being honest and you know I'm right. Pick something else from the ocean that doesn't scream 'sissy boy.' Get in touch with your inner sailor."

Reed was certain that if Manfred had an 'inner sailor,' he probably entered Manfred from behind.

"Okayy," Manfred dragged his words in uncertainty. "Maybe like.. a sperm whale?"

"A SPERM whale?" Reed doubled over in laughter again, totally overcome by it now as a result of trying to previously restrain it. Manfred wasn't exactly helping. "Are you trying to kill me?" He choked through his giggles.

"I don't know who the fuck named them that," Manfred commented, actually cutting Reed slack for laughing this time and having a chuckle, himself. "Anyway, I dunno, they look angry as hell all the time, and like they'd tear a man limb from limb."

"Are they the ones with the big, square heads and the sharp teeth?" Reed asked. His face was red from laughing and he was still catching his breath.

"I think that's right? Oh, maybe it could be fighting a giant squid?" Manfred added with building excitement, clapping his hands together and pointing at Reed with a big grin. "That would look tight, yeah?"

A bell that indicated that it was time for counts only momentarily interrupted. Reed and Manfred lined up on the threshold of their cube while the COs counted everyone in their block.

"I can tell I'm gonna need to dig through the animal books in the library," Reed said. He didn't have a great idea of what exactly a squid looked like. "But yeah, this'll be cool."

"Nice," Manfred replied, in satisfaction. Once they were counted, lights out was called and they both climbed into their respective bunks.

;

The next day, Reed had his anger management course. It wasn't terrible, in fact he used to look forward to it, if only because it gave him a break from his work day, and also there was a coffee machine in the meet up room.

Reed's counselor– Tina Chen– taught the course for his cellblock, and even though she worked in a prison, Reed supposed she was alright as pigs went. She seemed to understand that some people, most people, were victims of circumstance.

She could be a real hardass when it came to people owning their own actions and taking responsibility for their crap, though. She'd given Reed the straight talk more than once.

In class, Reed sat quietly sipping on a cup of dark roast with French Vanilla cream. He listened but rarely interacted, except when forcefully prompted by Counselor Chen. He did have to admit, too, that the techniques he'd learned so far had helped him.

The class ended around noon. Reed was meant to take his lunch, then carry on with his work. He was even fairly eager to do so, because it meant visiting with Kearney, of course..

Kearney, who hadn't left Reed's thoughts for some while..

Before Reed had a chance to get out of the meet up room when the class was over, however, Counselor Chen stopped him. He winced as she called his name, but halted in his tracks and turned to face her while everyone else filed out.

He should've known. She hadn't prompted him to address the group and he didn't take the initiative to do so on his own, so of course she would stop him after class.

"Not so fast, tough guy," she said to him in a very serious tone, despite that her words could've been taken as playful, otherwise. 

She was writing something on a clipboard, perched atop the same counter where the coffee machine sat. While Reed was waiting in silence for Counselor Chen to finish making her notes, he stared at the forgotten machine; it was an off-brand Tassimo and it was an absolute mess. 

It looked like it had just been made into the whore of some fantastical coffee gang bang, all spattered with cream and coffee dribble, and surrounded by spent cartridges. 

That was a very weird thought.

"So, how are we doing?" Counselor Chen prompted Reed when at last she was ready.

"We're.." He was terrible at answering random status queries. What did people expect him to say? "..still in prison."

"Hm," Counselor Chen nodded her acknowledgment. "You're looking a bit better today; no bruises or black eyes or busted up knuckles."

Reed shrugged in a lazy way, his eyes wandering toward the open doorway. "I've been trying to stay out of the fights that I know I can't win."

"That's definitely a notable improvement," Counselor Chen stated dryly. Reed was sure that she meant it, even if she always seemed detached. She fixed him with a concentrated stare, dark eyes shining. "Remember what we talked about last time? About defensive aggression?"

Reed's brow wrinkled slightly and he rolled his eyes upward in thought. "Was it the conversation we had where you compared me to a dog?"

"Specifically a pitbull exposed to dog fighting," she clarified. "The point was that, because of events in your life, your ability to perceive threats has become both warped and overactive. You tend toward defensive anger when it's unnecessary and you keep yourself feeling safe through antisocial behavior."

"Yeah I remember that talk. I've been working on it." Again, Reed shrugged. Even if she was genuinely trying to aid in his rehabilitation, he felt that it was pointless. 

Breathing a sigh, Reed spoke up again. "If I'm honest, aggressive defense in prison is just the bare minimum for survival." He let out a bitter scoff. "It's like I was trained for this all my life. Prison was made for me and I was made for prison."

"This isn't your forever home, Gavin," Counselor Chen replied in a completely even, serious tone. 

Reed squinted. "Was that a dog pound joke?"

"Kind of," she admitted with a very small smile. She placed her clipboard aside and bent forward slightly, resting her palms atop her knees. "I just mean that your story doesn't end here, and as such, it's important for you to work on healing the damage that got you here, rather than further internalizing it."

"Prison isn't exactly a healing environment, but like I said, I'm working on it," Reed said, crossing his arms and nodding as he glanced toward the door again. He was shifting his weight between his feet, probably making himself look like he badly needed to piss.

"Are you in a hurry?" Counselor Chen asked. Thankfully, she didn't decide to ask him if he badly needed to piss.

"..maybe," Reed replied in a hesitant way that was incredibly suspicious. He noticed right away how it sounded, scrunching his face and shaking his head, then saying more frankly, "I made a 'friend' recently. I work in his neighborhood so I get to visit with him when I'm working."

"Oh, that's good to hear," Counselor Chen said in a neutral way. She probably suspected that any friendship forged in prison came alongside drug or gang activity. She paused to give Reed an extra glance, studying his behavior and appearance.

"Maybe you'd like to transfer to his cellblock?" Counselor Chen offered, despite whatever suspicion she might or might not have had.

"Nah. People only transfer when they're running away from something. It'd make me look weak," Reed answered, giving what was probably the less obvious explanation for declining. 

He paused, considering the potential benefit of complete honestly. Then, with a sigh he added, "Plus, it's not even possible– he's in DR."

"..Oh."

"It sounds that bad, huh?"

Counselor Chen was suddenly all the more suspicious, in top of being visibly dubious as was made clear by her cocked head and narrowed eyes. "...This isn't the same person who was responsible for the cut on your face, right?"

"..Yeah, it is," he answered in a quiet hum, his hands reaching for non-existent pockets in his jumpsuit.

The counselor took a breath to steady herself, her head working over this bizarre revelation. "Gavin, how exactly does a friendship develop from there?"

Reed's mouth opened to explain, then fell shut again. He decided very quickly that the more he said on this topic, the worse it was going to sound. "In short... we were flirting," he confessed.

Counselor Chen's mouth opened slightly, and her deep, dark eyes gave him the blankest of stares. Eventually, she clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. "...off the record, I'm gonna add this to the list of reasons why I'm gay."

At the very least, her response got a soft chuckle out of Reed, and he nodded in sheepish agreement. He knew he was out of his fuckin' mind. He wasn't under any illusion otherwise.

After a thoughtful pause, Reed said, "Yeah. I might need to talk more about this.. with you, I mean."

"You, willingly sharing your feelings on something?" Counselor Chen said in an amused deadpan, then chuckled. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm at the point where even I have to admit that I could use the advice," Reed mumbled, his eyes not meeting hers. He supposed of all people, he trusted her. He'd already sought out Manfred's opinion, but Reed wasn't sure that Manfred's advice was terribly solid.

"Sounds serious," she commented, her brows raising. She sounded like she had, indeed, taken him seriously, but also as though she was trying to maintain a degree of detachment. 

Then, with overt frankness she asked, "So.. how far have the two of you progressed beyond 'flirting?'"

The dark of her eyes bored straight into the unspoken truth of the matter as they stared Reed down, and he replied with nothing more than hesitant silence. 

The counselor sighed, shaking her head in disapproval, then she pulled a keyring from her belt in order to unlock the cabinet behind her. From there, she drew out a basket of condoms and lube sample packs.

"I'm obliged to remind you that sexual relationships are prohibited," she said in a flat tone as she held the basket out to Reed. "..but if you're going to break the rules, make sure you do it safely."

Reed extended his hand into the offered basket, fisting a handful of the packets. "Thanks, Counselor Chen," he mumbled.

"I just gave you condoms and lube," the Counselor replied with an awkward chuckle. "You can use my first name."

Reed carried his bounty back to his cube and hid the items away in his box of latex gloves. He figured, latex dick gloves deserved to be with their family.

Weird thoughts, again.

Overall, it hadn't been a terrible day, Reed supposed. On days such as these, he could almost shelf the knowledge that he was in prison. On days such as these, he dared to believe that he might actually survive his sentence.

Counselor Chen had said during Reed's first week that he would eventually adjust. He hadn't liked the notion of adjusting to prison, however. It wasn't something one should ever need to adjust to.

But, while on his way to start work and visit Kearney, Reed allowed himself this small bit of peace and acceptance: he had adjusted. He was going to survive. Everything would be alright.

That was a huge mistake on his part.

As he rounded the corner of the corridor where the janitor's closet could be found, Reed went headlong into an ambush. 

Instinctually, his fists went up and he took the first swing at the nearest guy, getting in a good first shot, followed by a couple more before he quickly went beneath the overwhelming force of two other men.

They beat him until he laid curled on the floor in bitter submission, but they relented almost as soon as his own will to fight dimmed away.

Reed didn't want to admit it, but he was somewhat grateful when they backed off and he was left peering up, into the blotchy-skinned, dead-eyed face of Todd Williams. 

There was some saving grace in the fact that these guys weren't ABs.. it wasn't much though.

"I said that we'd be having a little talk soon, didn't I?" Williams nearly cackled as he bent down to examine the damage done to Reed. 

His lip was bleeding and a red welt was blooming against his cheek. Williams's eyes traced the red lines, imprinted by tightly curled fingers as they struck Reed's face.

"How about it, Reed?" Williams probed, though he could see that the beaten man had the breath knocked out of him and therefor wouldn't be responding. "You come up with a way to amend that fuck up we discussed before?"

As expected, all that came from Reed was a choked cough and a sharp, angry glare.

"I really hope that you did," Williams went on, one hand combing back his long, greasy hair as he spoke, "because as I've said– there will be consequences if you don't."

"I don't even know.." Reed choked out, his face furrowed into a snarl. He coughed again, his voice ragged. "I don’t even know what you want from me."

"Are you a fucking child, Reed?" Williams growled with a sickening laugh. He reached out to grapple at Reed, dragging him up as far as his knees.

"Do you really need to be given instruction?" Williams continued, his nose wrinkling and showing his teeth. "I already gave you a freebie when I let you entertain me by stabbing one of the doomed fucks from DR. I let you off easy, and see what happened? You fucked up again."

Williams straightened, shaking his head. Reed's eyes lowered as he did, if only to avoid giving the other man the satisfaction of seeing him looking up at him. He probably looked like a cowed, angry child.

He felt like one, too. This kind of helplessness was all too familiar. He felt just like the child he'd been so long ago, beaten senseless so many times by his own mother in a drunken rage.

He'd always been the one to apologize then, too. His younger self just knew: it was his fault that she drank so much. It was his fault she got so angry, so sick. Through the bruises and pain, he put himself back together in order to take care of her the next day.  
He'd always hoped that one day she'd see the love in his eyes when he looked at her, that she'd recognize it in the way he submitted to her explosive temper. 

He deserved the beatings. She deserved an outlet for all of her rage and disappointment.

"Fuck, I think this stupid asshole knocked out one of my teeth," one of Williams's punks was saying while Reed hovered in defensive silence.

Another looked over at the guy that Reed had slugged. He had the skin of his lip pulled back with one fingertip, so the other guy could inspect. "Nah, it's still in there," he hummed dismissively. "Just push it back into place and it'll be alright."

"You just keep digging your grave deeper and deeper, don’t you?" Williams said with crossed arms, slowly shaking his head. "You already owe me your life for sparing your fucking existence as long as I have, and now you owe my friend here an apology too. You are an irredeemable fuck up, aren't you?"

"Fuck you," Reed growled through bloody teeth, his voice a weak, half-hearted sound that hardly reflected the harsh burn of anger he felt inside.

And just as soon as he uttered the words, Williams's open palm struck him hard across the face, knocking Reed's head to one side. It only stung on the surface. Underneath that, the degradation of being slapped, rather than hit with any real force, cut deep into whatever little self-worth Reed had nourished within himself.

"Listen closely, you stupid piece of shit," Williams said, grabbing Reed by the chin and forcing eye contact. Reed must have looked like a vicious dog, resisting the urge to bite Williams's hand as he did it.

"You have until tomorrow to make some fucking amends. So you had better figure something out," Williams growled, his voice much too calm, yet failing to hide the burn of unprovoked anger, always just beneath his skin. 

He bent down lower, smiling and uttering the words, "As for my friend, you owe him an apology right now."

"I don't see what there is to figure out," the guy with the broken tooth commented with a chuckle. "Everyone knows exactly what this little slut is good at."

Williams laughed, pushing Reed out of his grasp. "The janitor's closet is just right there," he said with a gesture. "Have fun."

;

When Reed made it to work at last, he found Kearney seated at his desk, deeply focused on a book that was splayed open before himself. Reed allowed the other man to go undisturbed, even if he hadn't made use of their established privacy signal.

There was also the fact that.. Reed didn't feel like showing his beaten self in front of Kearney. He didn't feel like talking about his unfortunate situation. He didn't feel like letting this untouchable, perfect man see what a weak, pathetic worm he was.

He felt so dirty, so flimsy, so utterly worthless.

Reed hurried, instead, to catch up on his daily tasks, making himself scarce by hiding away in the DR showers and putting extra care into scrubbing the tiles.

He also hid his tattoo machines as planned. It was by the fucking grace of God that Todd's assholes hadn't broken, nor discovered them.

After scrubbing the shower stalls a little too well, Reed seated himself in the corner of one, holding his head in his hands and shutting his eyes tight. He felt a bit sick and it was suddenly hard to breathe, but that was no surprise, considering how many kicks he'd just taken to the ribs.

His face was burning from bruises and anger, his temples pounding so hard that the sound of his pulse was ringing in his ears like a drum. It made his entire head feel as though it were swollen and fevered, and the way his brow beaded with perspiration only further accentuated that sensation.

His eyes were wet and watery, but not from weeping. The tension growing inside his skull had created such a pressure that his tears were being forced out, to make space. His skin was so hot that the wetness felt cool against his cheeks, but Reed brushed it quickly away.

Today, Reed was meant to go inside the DR cells in order to clean the toilets and sinks. If he could stay out of Kearney's sight long enough, the other man would be taken to yard while Reed stayed behind to do his job, and they wouldn't see each other until tomorrow.

..If Reed even made it to work alive tomorrow.

Reed resolved to sweep the corridor in the remaining fifteen minutes before time for yard. He was certain that he could easily push a broom back and forth without getting Kearney's attention.

Of course he could. Kearney typically waited for him to come over to his cell, anyway. If Reed failed to initiate any conversation, Kearney likely would just forget that he even existed.

Well, Reed was dead wrong on that account. 

He made one pass down the corridor, only to notice from the corner of his eye that Kearney was already standing at the glass wall, waiting and watching for him.  
Reed pretended not to notice.

On Reed's next pass down the hallway, Kearney didn't quietly wait to be ignored. He bent himself near the sound exchange vent and called Reed's name aloud.

"Gavin Reed," he said with all the authority of a disappointed parental figure.  
"Yeah, can't chat right now," Reed hollered, waving one hand, "I've gotta lotta' shit to catch up on and–"

"I wear glasses to improve my visual acuity, you know." Kearney's words were razor sharp as he uttered them. "I can see that you've been fighting again."

Reed stopped where he stood, hands clenching at the broom handle in his grasp.

"Gavin.." Kearney uttered, voice softened from before. "What happened?"

As Reed stood there contemplating whether or not he wanted to walk away, he wondered: was the distance that he was trying so hard to maintain really just the isolationism he brandished to defend himself?

And, to date, had it ever done him any good?

He breathed a sigh, turning to glance over his shoulder, in Kearney's direction. The other man was standing at the glass with an expectant look on his face, blue eyes searching for Reed's own.

"The same fucker who made me stab you before," Reed mumbled with a weak shrug. "He's on my ass again, that’s all."

"For what?" Kearney asked. He wasn't prying, nor snooping for curiosities sake. There was a softness to him, a fragile kind of caution that drew Reed into it's warmth.

"I don't know– he says that me changing jobs fucked with the 'prison economy.'" Reed wandered closer to the glass as he spoke. "An AB got my old position, and it pays better than this one, so Williams wants me to pay him back somehow."

Kearney nodded in calm, thoughtful understanding. He reached for the simplest answer first. "Could that not be handled by paying this man the difference?"

"I don't think it's that easy," Reed replied with a frustrated snarl, folding one arm against the glass pane and leaning his head into the crook. "I have to find a way to reduce the funds flowing into the hands of his rivals.."

The real problem was that he could only think of one way to accomplish this..   
"Whatever I'm gonna do, I have until tomorrow to do it, or.. who knows," Reed breathed against the glass, softly fogging the surface.

"Gavin, I think you need to take this more seriously," Kearney stated, his voice softly strict and calmly grim. "This man, if he's at the head of his own organization, he's not in a place to fail in fulfilling his promises, especially promises of punishment."

Reed drew his head upward, hazel gray eyes meeting Kearney's through the clear pane. His internal panic was momentarily displaced by a vague intrigue– Kearney sounded very much like a person who was speaking from experience.

"Do you know what you need to do in order to placate him?" Kearney asked. Reed could hardly respond to that. His gaze averted and he swallowed dryly.

"No.. I mean, yeah, I do, I guess," Reed mumbled. 

His mind quickly flashed through images of the knife he'd held at a man's throat while his boyfriend pleaded with him. Next, it went to thoughts of thrusting a shank through the fence to strike Kearney upon their first meeting; all the guilt, the remorse.

"But I don't think.." Reed shook his head. He couldn't do this. It would eat him up inside. It would destroy him. "I don't know.."

Kearney let out a quiet sigh, then said, "If you continue to hesitate, Gavin, you could die." His blue eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, then he lightly tapped the glass, putting one finger up at the man on the other side. "Hold on for a moment.."

Reed watched in curiosity as Kearney strode over to his desk, drawing a basket of neatly sorted and folded papers from one of the drawers. His deft fingers thumbed through the collection, then he carefully selected one.

Unfolding the item, Kearney looked over it with a hint of visible fondness, smoothing his fingertips across the printed words. After a moment, Kearney folded the paper along the creases and returned to the glass wall in order to push it through the door slot in offering.

"Give him this, in exchange for more time. Make sure that you communicate that you're taking his grievances seriously, but you need more time to repay him properly," Kearney explained.

Reed took the sheet of paper as it was slid through to him. His immediate reaction was to unfold it again, then read it. His face creased as his eyes flickered across the first paragraph.

"What the fuck– Is this a dirty letter?" Reed asked, not really in need of confirmation. He had easily concluded within moments that it was precisely that. In fact, 'dirty' was scarcely an apt descriptor. The letter was graphic.

Reed was moreso wanting to know if the other man was fucking serious.

"Cross out my name," Kearney stated with total confidence, filtering out Reed's dubiousness.

"This is stupid, what makes you think this will get him off my back?" Reed hissed. Nevertheless, he folded the letter and shoved it into his jumpsuit.

"Prisoners love letters and men love sex. This was written by a real, live woman. Most of the men here would pay good money for such an.. experience," Kearney tried to reassure the other. His thick lashes lowered slightly as his gaze turned aside and he commented, "..not to mention, this letter was very difficult to sneak inside."

Reed had so many fuckin’ questions. This apparently manifested itself on his face with a very dull, blank expression.

"It will happily distract him for a little while, buying you some more time," Kearney elaborated in the hopes of making Reed better understand. There was a soft wrinkle between his brows, a visible sign of his growing impatience.

Reed just shook his head and shrugged, in both acceptance and defeat. "Guess I don't have much to lose," he mumbled. Even with more time, his dilemma remained.

"Gavin. Stop ignoring the problem and find a way to fix it," Kearney blurted, calm yet commanding, razor sharp and ice cold. Reed warily met his gaze, feeling the weight of those steely eyes as Kearney bent closer to the glass.

"I can't solve everything for you," he said.

Reed nodded his acknowledgment, his mouth pulling into a tight line. He looked elsewhere, folding his arms over his chest as his face scrunched in his moral discomfort.

"The only way to 'fix' this will just make things worse for me," he uttered, a bit under his breath to the point that Kearney probably hadn't heard him. Reed's eyes strayed in the direction of the neighboring cell while he contemplated his impossible situation.

He had seen the person in the cell next to Kearney plenty of times; he was a timid, quiet man with soft eyes. He had apparently killed a man in self-defense, or so Kearney had informed Reed of such.

Kearney had also been very sure that the other man would have his sentence overturned.

"What was his name?" Reed asked out of the blue. The only indication of his intended subject was the line of his gaze. That wasn't enough for Kearney to draw a conclusion.

"Who?" Kearney asked.

Reed thumbed in the direction of the cell next to Kearney.

"Shaolin Being."

"Like.. human being?"

"Yes."

Reed studied the other cell with clear confusion written on his face; it was empty. 

"Where is he?" Reed asked.

"They came this morning to ready him for transport," Kearney answered in a way that was much too calm, juxtaposed with the wave of dread that his slow, steady words sent through Reed's frame.

"Transport?" Reed breathed. He glanced in Kearney's direction as he awaited an answer, finding a distant, solemn expression on the other man's face.

Kearney held his tongue for a moment more, looking as though several parts of him were hoping that Reed would simply draw the right conclusion on his own.

When Reed did not, Kearney gave his answer. "...to the execution facility."

Reed shook his head, eyes widening in utter shellshock. He glanced between Kearney and the empty cell again, trying to conceive of what he was hearing. "I thought you said.. he had appeals."

"He did," Kearney nodded in confirmation. Reed watched him as he spoke, so composed, like he was explaining an article from the morning newspaper. "His first appeal failed, so he waived his own right to further appeals for the sake of getting his execution over and done with."

Why would anyone do that? It was all Reed could think.

"...he just gave up?" Reed said with a snarl, turbulent emotions tumbling inside of him in such confusion that anger was the only thing he could be sure of.

"He was tired of living in suspense, it seemed," Kearney said, taking some caution in Reed's clear distress. He turned his head, as though to look through the wall that separated him from the man next door. The skin of his neck was pale, and his head was held up as straight as the rest of his posture.

"The wait itself was more of a torment, to him, than death," he explained, each word careful, the blue of his eyes going back to Reed's, like eye contact was the only comforting embrace possible between them.

Even so, Reed didn't at all cope well with that answer.

"...Nathan. What is it like?" Reed asked, the gruff of his voice suddenly fragile. His hand reached out to touch the glass, his palm flattening against the clear pane. "..I mean, waiting, knowing what's coming?"

Nothing but silence came out of the man behind the glass. His brow wrinkled in thought, while his hand outstretched to meet Reed's, feeling nothing at all but cold, smooth glass.

Reed's neck bent as he waited, leaning his head down so that his forehead touched the pane between himself and Kearney. His entire body was wilting, despite the fearful tension strung up his spine, so tight it was ready to snap.

"Are you afraid?" Reed whispered. He was close enough to the sound exchange vent that he knew Kearney had heard. That and the other man let out a bitter chuckle almost immediately.

Kearney pressed his own body closer to the glass, his face hardly an inch from Reed's. He had a smile curving the corners of his lips. "I thought you'd learned better than to ask me about my feelings," he muttered, somehow playful, somehow teasing, despite everything.

And then he told the truth.

"I don't want to die. But I'm not afraid." He couldn't hold eye contact with Reed as he uttered this admission and his jaw clenched like he was chewing the words.

"Life in here.. it isn't a life. You know that as well as I, Gavin. Most days.. it really is just.. so painfully boring that death seems like a final relief from the monotony."

Kearney breathed a sigh, his fingers lightly scratching at the glass as though he could force them to the other side, to weave into the spaces between Reed's own. 

"I want to leave this place, one way or another," he said, steel blue eyes suddenly like clear water as his gaze met Reed's. "..but I would like to live, if I had a choice."

Reed nodded his head in silence. There were only a few more minutes before the COs would come file the DR inmates out into their pen for exercise.

"Thanks for your help, Nathan," Reed said at last. He really would literally owe this man his life one day soon, it seemed.

"Take care of your business, Gavin," Kearney replied, shaking off his pensive mood with a slow, deep breath.

"I know that you seem to believe that giving in to their demands is a sign of weakness, but trust me.. failing to adapt is the true weakness of character," Kearney stated, looking Reed in the eye as he issued this advice. Reed could tell that this was coming from somewhere personal, even if the other man didn't say so.

"You must have more at your disposal than readied fists if you want to survive."

"Right," Reed accepted, sincerely taking Kearney's words to heart as well as he was capable. "I'll keep that in mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, will Gavin Reed ever get his shit together? Or is he destined to be a complete mess forever? What do you lot think? Did you enjoy this chapter? 
> 
> I'm trying to get caught up to the Twitter version of the story, but it's a process. Hang in there, friends! In the mean time, stalk my social media. I appreciate you all~
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BanishedOne)   
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	15. Chapter 15

While he was in his cube that evening, Reed officially finished up the process of readying himself for tattoo work.

He had collected several empty Visine bottles from the garbage and rinsed them out for the sake of having containers to store his ink. He hadn't counted on access to DR wastebaskets being so convenient, but now he knew better.

Around the usual time, Manfred came skulking into their shared cube, looking the typical amount of shady, glancing about and fidgeting with his hands. He was apparently in a relaxed mood, otherwise, because he crouched near Reed like a brat kid in front of an oven, waiting for cookies to bake.

"Hey uhh, Reed?" He prompted the other man. "Did you draw my tattoo design yet?"

Someone was clearly excited. Reed smiled weakly, happy enough that Manfred was so eager, but he was also half tempted to tell Manfred to call his damn prison Daddy off in exchange.

Of course, he wasn't naive enough to think Manfred had that kind of sway, even with the power of seduction.

"Nah," Reed answered, fingertips black with the soot from his ink candle. He was scraping the fine, black powder carefully into the empty Visine bottle. "Haven't had a chance to find a good reference for sperm whales and giant squids just yet. Let me get this ink squared away first, then I'll work on the design. I have some good ideas already."

"Fuck yeah man, I'm psyched!" Manfred said, his voice going up a bit in pitch.

Reed gave a nod, dabbing some body wash into the ink bottle with a broken button and water. He shook it vigorously, then set it aside.

"Hey, Manfred.. I know I said that the tat would be free of charge, but I could use one small favor," Reed said with a sigh. Manfred quickly answered that with a scoff.

"Not like I wasn't already expecting that," he commented, crossing his arms and side-eying Reed. "What is it?"

"Do you have any shanks hidden out in the yard?" Reed asked. There was a weight to his voice, an internal bargaining overshadowed by solemn resignation. "I think.. I think I'm gonna need one."

Reed's tone gave Manfred pause, and yet, moments later he tried to play it off like a joke. "...are you and your death row husband having a lover's quarrel?"

"What? No," Reed hissed, elbowing Manfred. Nathan was probably the best damn thing in Reed's life at the moment. He didn't say so, though. He knew how pathetic it would sound. 

Reed lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder like the walls had ears and were constantly listening. "I'm gonna fuck up an AB."

Manfred suddenly looked serious. "..You need backup?"

"Nah," Reed breathed, shaking his head. "I've gotta fly solo on this one."

"You wanna die?" Manfred replied. This easily could've been a joke on his part, but audibly wasn't. No, he was dead serious.

Reed shrugged, his features crinkled up in consideration, in worry. He had to seriously think about his answer, despite that, no, obviously he didn't want to die. "..to be honest, I don't know if I even have a choice at this point. I’m just playing Russian roulette with the possibilities."

Manfred closed his eyes and shook his head. "You're fuckin crazy, you know that?"

"This place is crazy," Reed declared. He wasn't a killer. He didn't want that on his soul. But prison was certainly necessitating it. "Anyway– do you have one I can use or not?"

Slowly, Manfred nodded. "..there's a razor blade hidden between the planks on the bench of the picnic table. It's small, so you'll have to get up close to use it, but it's sharp."

"Alright. Thanks Manfred."

"Yeah, whatever. Don't get fucking murdered." 

"I'll consider avoiding it," Reed said with a bitter scoff. Dying in the prison yard wasn't exactly in his agenda. He had just been really, really bad at minimizing the possibility, to this point. 

With a grunt and a stretch to limber out the stiffness, Reed got to his feet and inched toward the door to the cube. "I have some business with Williams, too. You wanna walk over to his cell with me. Maybe if you're there, he won't have someone beat my ass on sight."

Manfred's head rolled back impatiently, stretching his neck backward. "What did you do now?" He groaned. 

Reed shrugged. "The usual. I'm an irredeemable fuck up, to use his own words."

"Maybe you should just offer him your services?" Manfred suggested in an offhand way. When his eyes turned to meet Reed's, however, the other man was giving him a disgusted look.

"I meant your tattoo services, obviously," Manfred clarified, tone shooting low, like this actually shouldn't have been difficult to figure out.

"Yeah, maybe," Reed breathed in agreement. Honestly, nothing would make him happier than tattooing Todd Williams, because he could absolutely hide a penis somewhere in the design without anyone ever knowing. That brought a little smile to his face.

"For now I have.. something else that might interest him," Reed said, crossing his arms over his chest and unconsciously reaching up to run his palm along his jaw. The stubble was just beginning to grow back in, but he'd gotten into the habit of rubbing his skin while it was smooth. 

"..And just for the record, I have no real interest, but I should probably ask anyway– How kinky is he?" Reed abruptly inquired.

Manfred predictably recoiled, crossing his own arms in a visibly defensive way. "What the fuck dude?" He hissed.

"I have some.. pornography," Reed clarified his reason for asking. "It's real kinky though. You think he'll be interested in that?"

"Probably yeah," Manfred answered, looking elsewhere. "But for the record, he's surprisingly vanilla. He cries in the middle of things more than half the time."

Reed clenched his eyes shut, abhorred yet equally amused by the ghastly images rushing into his mind. "Thank you for that, Manfred," he grunted like he'd just received some bitter medicine. "Seriously."

Manfred chuckled awkwardly and nodded his head, clearly pleased with himself despite his total embarrassment.

"Alright," Reed gestured for Manfred to follow as he strode from the cube. "Let's go."

Williams's cube was a short, 20-30 foot walk down the corridor from Reed's. Their cellblock was essentially a tightly packed, cement dormitory, with barred cell doors which were only used in lockdown situations.

When Reed and Manfred made it to Williams's cube, Reed stopped on the threshold, waiting for the other man to take notice. The toes of his shoes just barely touched the soft, rubber mat which lined the floor of the other man's cell.

Williams glanced up from where he was seated, breathing out a chuckle at seeing Reed again so soon. He gave him a flick of his hand to beckon him inside.

"I hope you're here to give me good news," Williams addressed Reed, who was taking a few small paces closer.

"Yeah," Reed answered, gruff and unsure about this whole thing. He hid that part well enough, though. Now, what did Kearney tell him, again? 

"I came to say umm.. that I'm taking your grievances seriously. But I'm gonna need more time to repay you properly. I thought that I could offer you something of interest, in exchange."

Quickly, Reed produced the folded letter that Kearney had given him before. It was now meticulously blotted with black Sharpie to get rid of Nathan's name. He could definitely tell that the chick who wrote it loved penning Nathan's name, over and over again. 

Reed swallowed as he handed the item to Williams. The other man hummed a dubious, "what's this," unfolding the paper with clumsy fingers which spared little care for not tearing the seams.

Squinting once the letter was unfurled, Williams began skimming it. Almost immediately, his brows shot up at the content. He snickered a bit, then looked at Reed in amusement.

"Is this your girl on the outside?" He asked. His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead was wrinkled; even his amusement didn't leave him looking any softer.

Wait, he thought the person from the letter was Reed's girlfriend?

"Yeah," Reed muttered. He cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders, then spoke up again. "Yeah, my girl wrote this."

Reed spared a glance at Manfred. That idiot had a very confused look on his face, like he was moments from saying something to the effect of, 'but I thought you were gay?'

Thank the fuck Christ he didn't.

"Damn," Williams mumbled in an impressed way. "You should tell her to write more of this, then sell it. It'd make a decent hussle." 

Reading some more, Williams idly placed one hand over his mouth, while his shoulders shook with his quiet chuckling.

"This minx really loves your cock, doesn't she?" He commented with a scoff. "She know how much you love sucking dick?"

Reed's jaw clenched. "Actually, she does," he blurted, his voice a bit flat. He had to sanitize his tone of all emotion to keep the constant hellfire of rage beneath the surface. He supposed he'd learned a lot from Kearney. Then again, that man was probably apathetic naturally.

Williams looked up in intrigue at Reed's surprising declaration. He had one brow cocked as though to say, 'that's gonna require some explaining.'

"..I learned to suck cock to please her," Reed lied. He forced a sly grin to his face, though it was likely the beginnings of duping delight. "It gets her soaking wet, watching me blow another dude. Then after me and the other guy are both hard, we double team her. Drives her crazy."

"Jesus, Reed, you are a fuckin’ freak," Todd chuckled, pointing at Reed with a waggling finger. "Okay, look, Ill give you three more days. I like knowing that you've finally decided to get fuckin’ serious." 

The man laughed and added, "That little spanking earlier sure learned you a lesson, huh? Discipline is important, that's what I always say."

Reed couldn't help but inwardly reflect on the irony of punishment, as Williams was presenting it. Prison was also a punishment, but it clearly hadn't taught Williams shit.

Instead of pushing his luck, though, Reed nodded and showed himself out of Williams's cube. 

With a little bit of his peace of mind restored, Reed went off to the library for the rest of the evening. He studied a couple of pictures from a book on sea creatures, and some others from a copy of Moby Dick that had illustrations. 

He hoped Mr. Dick was the kind of whale that Manfred had asked for, anyway. He had a strong feeling about it. Moby DICK was probably a SPERM whale, yeah. God, he was starting to think the dolphin actually would've been less gay than this.

The next day, Gavin went about his regular business, trying to ignore the way his nerves were tightening again, knowing that the time to kill an AB was growing near.

As usual, he chatted with Kearney for a bit during his lunchbreak, thanking him again for his help and informing him that the letter worked just the way he said it would. Kearney didn't wait even a second before he commenced to gloating.

God, he was so fuckin' self-assured and like an idiot, Reed found it utterly charming. Maybe it was that he envied Kearney's confidence? Or maybe it was that, to anybody else, that sheer lack of self doubt was utterly comical. Reed wasn't too sure, either way.

Once Kearney was done basking in his own craftiness, Reed took the opportunity to finally deliver his wolf drawing to the other man.

"I made this for you," Reed explained as he pushed the sheet of paper through the door slot. "It's not as ..titillating as the letter you sacrificed for my sake, but I thought.. it would help you deal with shit."

Kearney unfolded the very gently creased piece of paper, lashes dark over his downcast eyes as he looked over the image. He was quiet for an extended moment, his expression thoughtful but mysterious enough that Reed couldn't tell if he liked the gift or not.

"I just mean.. prison, and that other stuff that was on your mind," Reed elaborated. "Trust and reconciliation. That's what you said, right?"

"You really are quite talented, aren't you?" Kearney spoke, raising his gaze to meet Reed's. His eyes were as icy intense as ever, holding Reed's stare with a kind of steadiness that was inhuman and yet.. they didn't seem as depthless as usual, like he was finally looking at Reed for the very first time.

"You drew this after seeing the picture of the wolf in my book once..?" Kearney asked.

Reed broke out of the breathless, awe-stricken trance that the other man so often put him in, and he shrugged his shoulders, flicking his hand to dismiss Kearney's praise. Even so, a smile made its way to his face.

"It's.. not perfect, but I hope you like it," Reed said, chuckling and crossing his arms to avoid having to think about what his hands were doing.

"I adore it, Gavin. Thank you," Kearney purred. Reed glanced toward his hands, watching the way the other man's fingertips unconsciously caressed the item, like it was something precious.

"Maybe some time soon, I can start working on something you'd like to have on your body permanently," Reed suggested. The simple thought of touching Kearney's bared skin sent his blood rushing. "I owe you that, huh?"

"You certainly do." Kearney replied with a playful smile. 

"Did you have anything in mind yet?" Reed asked, leaning into the glass.

"...I hadn't thought much about it." Kearney shrugged, tilting his head to one side so that stray waves fell against his forehead. "Why don't you come up with something that you think I'd like? Like this," he said, lifting the wolf drawing to indicate it.

Reed almost immediately choked on the laugh that came from him. His brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead and he combed one hand through his hair. 

"That's a significant amount of trust to put in me," he sputtered, still chuckling. "Do you want to end up with a tattoo of a dick?"

Then again, he knew that the consequence of abusing Kearney's trust involved a straight razor.

"Oh, I think you have a bit more pride in your work than that," Kearney asserted, a grin curving the corners of his mouth. "It's personal to you. As such, giving you free rein will have fine results." 

"You know that, do you?" Reed asked, utterly dubious and chuckling over Kearney's undue confidence in him. It occurred to him, though, that Kearney could've been giving him instruction, albeit indirectly. 

He eventually nodded his head, one cheek still dimpled with a crooked grin. "Alright. We'll see, pal."

Kearney's gaze sank suddenly and the hint of a smile he'd been wearing faded away. The change came over him so rapidly that Reed started tapping the glass, like some idiot kid trying to revive an upside-down goldfish in a glass bowl.

"Hey, what's up?" Reed asked, bending his neck in an attempt to meet the other man's eye. "What'd I say wrong?"

"Nothing," Kearney breathed, letting out a quiet sigh as he shook his head. "Its just that, well, you've seen my body, Gavin. I need you to make my skin into something worthy of being viewed."

Reed went very still. It actually took him a moment to even figure out what Kearney was talking about. Then, it came back to him– Kearney had those scars that he was self-conscious about. 

Oddly, Reed himself had practically omitted them from his memory of that afternoon. In his mind, Kearney was perfection. Nothing about him was flawed, or else his flaws were just.. precious details.

Reed placed his hand against the glass, smiling quietly to himself and nodding his head like he was accepting Kearney's request. He was bereft of proper words with which comment, but Kearney didn't seem to be bothered, as he pressed his hand where Reed's waited and said nothing more for a few contented moments.

"Hey, I've got some uhh.. some business to see to during yard time, so.. I might not see you later." Reed muttered, remembering that there was still a possibility that he might not live long enough to give Nathan Kearney what he needed.

"..is everything okay?" Kearney asked.

"Yeah," Reed answered. He tried to hitch his voice to sound unbothered, but he wasn't sure if that worked it not, since Kearney didn't look convinced.

Kearney had made it clear, though, that he was tired of Reed's whining. And he was right. Reed needed to actually address his problems himself, rather than dumping them on Kearney.

So with a forced smile, Reed kissed the glass and winked at the beautiful man on the other side. "Okay, lemme’ get back to work."

Kearney nodded and went back to his own business. He turned on the radio eventually, playing an old tape of Johnny Cash. Reed had heard this one so many times now that he knew all the words to every song.

He'd also concluded two things about Johnny Cash: the man was fixated on prison, and obsessed with death to a morbid degree. Still, every time 'I Got Stripes' played, Reed couldn't help but dance along with his mop. 

Not anywhere that Kearney would be able to watch him, of course. 

At 2pm, Reed left work for yard. He noticed on his way out, though, that Kearney had placed the wolf drawing on a corkboard that hung above his desk. That brought a smile to Reed's face.

Before heading out to yard, Reed quickly went back to his cube. He didn't want to admit to himself that he was desperately nervous. Of all the times he'd fought the fuckin' ABs, he'd never been so sure that he was going to end up slaughtered. He took several deep breaths.

Funny how his anger management techniques were helping him steel his nerve, too. 

At the last minute, Reed grabbed a Snoball cake from one of his drawers. Nothing was stopping him from taking Kearney one last gift before he died horribly. It was a grim thing to associate with a sweet, pink cake but life was odd like that.

Reed's eyes passed over the bottles of ink stashed inside the drawer as he took out a cake. His gaze lingered on them for a moment.

He had an idea.

Once Reed made it out to yard, he strode right over to the DR fence and waited for Kearney to approach. As soon as the other man appeared, Reed passed the packet of cakes through the fence to him.

"I felt like treating you, so you can have both today," Reed cooed, gripping the chainlink and restraining the urge to tear it down.

"What a gentleman," Kearney replied with one of his quiet titters. He recognized the gift to be both a generous gesture and a silly one. Processed snack cakes weren't exactly grand tokens of affection, except for the fact that they were in prison, so actually, yes, they were.

Kearney clutched the plastic package between his cuffed hands and set a quiet gaze upon Reed. It asked again, without words, 'is everything okay?'

Reed provided no answer to that. 

Reed wrung his grip away from the fence, then he backed away and walked over, instead, to the picnic table where Manfred indicated he could find that razor blade. Reed took it out and tucked it somewhere hidden, but within his reach.

Reed began toward where the skinheads hung out in the yard. They were monopolizing all use of the work out equipment, as always. Before Reed was even close, one of them perked in agitation and puffed himself, pointing in the opposite direction as he watched Reed approach.

"You're in the wrong place," the skinhead hollered, striding in Reed's direction with a bull-like gait to match Reed's own.

Reed showed his palms, raising them to about chest-level. "Easy," he said. His tone was hard but almost bored-sounding in its lack of aggression. "I'm looking for the guy who does the inkwork."

"He don't do work outside of the Brotherhood," the AB spat, clearly measuring Reed up. 

Reed was doing just the same, but less obviously. This guy didn't look nearly as tough as his loyalties enabled him to act, and Reed was beyond sure that he could drop him in less than a minute.

A couple more of the tatted, shaven-bald men started in Reed's direction when the first dude didn't succeed in chasing him off. That put the odds much less in his favor.

"I still have something to discuss with him," he said. His fingers were idly tightening into ready fists, then unfurling again. "We can talk business like men, right?"

"You're gonna be talking business through a hole in your throat," one of the bigger dudes barked, taking a few steps closer to Reed.

"Go ahead, slit my fuckin' throat, then," Reed snarled, raising his voice to match the other man's volume, and stepping to him, unwilling to back down. Weakness would get him dismissed even more quickly than aggression.

"We'll all be put under lockdown, and yard time will be ruined for all of your boys. You wanna ruin yard for everyone, just to get rid of me?" Reed took another step toward the ABs, meeting all of their pale-eyed squints with a hard glare of his own. 

He furrowed his features and shook his head. "I just wanna talk to him. It ain't that deep." 

Reluctantly, one of the swastika-marked men finally went off to get the guy whose hand had penned those marks. 

They came back with a dude who was practically twice Reed's size. Like most of them, his head was clean shaven and he had a handlebar mustache.

He didn't seem all that talkative. Upon his arrival, he looked down on Reed and crossed his massive arms, as if to say, 'what do you want, little man?'

Reed cleared his throat and walked closer to the big dude. He reached into his jumpsuit very slowly, glancing around to make sure that the COs weren't paying attention, then he pulled out a bottle of ink.

He had remembered the tatted old guy saying that the ABs were being tattooed with some shit ink. Reed's first batch wasn't exactly perfect, but it would work a lot better than the blotchy mess some of these guys had under their skin.

He wouldn't say that to them, exactly.

"With all the work you're doing on these guys, I figure you're having to make ink every other night to keep up a supply," Reed said, shaking the ink bottle. "I don't have as many customers, so I've got way more than I need. I'll sell it to you cheap, and it'll save you having to make it." 

"...How much?" The huge man asked. He had a deep voice with some kind of natural slur to it.

"Three dollars a bottle. And I make about four bottles in each batch," Reed explained. "I can get that to you at least once a week. Or more if you still need it, just let me know."

The massive man rubbed at his mustache in thought. He appeared almost bored with this business deal, but at least his placid persona served to put Reed more at ease in the stretch of silence.

"Alright, sure," he answered almost too simply. Reed nodded and smiled in satisfaction, nevertheless.

"I'll let you have this one for free," Reed said, offering the giant man the bottle. The man's big mits reached slowly out to take the item. It wasn't cautious, or anything; his movement was just naturally slow and steady.

Reed found himself thinking, how did this dude find the energy to hate everyone who wasn't white? He was more like a monstrous sloth man.

Maybe the ABs had invited him to join, and he had just rubbed at his mustache, then said, 'alright, sure.'

"You'll have your first batch by tomorrow," Reed explained, trying not to get distracted. He shook hands with the guy and quickly scooted away afterwards. He never thought he'd see the day to shake with a Nazi, but prison was a weird place.

That evening, after having dinner and getting his ink candle burning again, Reed ventured off to Williams's cube to inform him that he'd successfully hustled an AB for the funds they'd gained as a whole by getting his old job.

Additionally, he was going to offer Williams the money he acquired through his ink hustle, just to straighten everything out between them, hopefully once and for all.

Todd Williams nodded his head in approval. "Alright Reed, you're off the hook," he said with a smile that was nauseating. "I knew you had it in you."

Reed considered this success to be his graduation to a new level of understanding, in regards to prison survival. He heaved a sigh on his way back to his cell, hoping to work on something for Kearney now that things were finally calm.

He wasn't under any illusions that his work would be what made Kearney's skin worthy of being viewed, but if it gave the other man even a little joy, that was enough. 

;

The sun hadn't gone down yet, but it was heavy on the horizon. 

It was right at the tail end of evening visiting hours, when the click of high-heeled shoes resounded down the DR corridor.

Without even a guard escort, an unexpected figure came to stand before the glass of Kearney's cell and a familiar voice soon announced the visitor's presence.

"Good evening, Nathan," a woman spoke, her tone as strict and steady as her deep dark gaze. She wore a small smile on her face that didn't meet her ever-cold eyes. "It's nice to see you."

The sound of the woman's voice wracked Kearney's frame with involuntary tension. He didn't immediately turn to face the visitor, steeling his nerve for a few extra moments before he very slowly shifted his gaze over one shoulder to see who was there.

"...Amanda," he muttered. 

The woman at the glass raised her chin, keeping her head high and looking down her nose at the other, despite being a very small woman staring down a much taller man.

"Don't be rude," she commanded, voice dripping honey too sweet to be anything but pretense. "Come here to me, son."

Kearney's throat moved in a swallow, and slowly, so slowly, as though he were reacting to an animal that could be provoked, he stood and began his approach, nearing the glass one measured pace at a time.

"I heard all about your brother's plan to use you to capture the Hawkwasp killer," she said with an extra upward curve at the corners of her painted lips. 

"How is that?" Nathan asked, his voice a whisper, blue eyes looking anywhere but at his visitor's face.

"You know me," Amanda said, tutting like her dear child was such a fool to ask these obtuse questions. "The grape vines inevitably lead to me, especially when it comes to you. You remember the promise I made to you all those years ago? I'm still doing it, even now."

"Of course," Kearney breathed in understanding, with a tiny nod of his head.

"You are listening to me right, Nathan?" Amanda cooed. Her words at last brought Kearney's eyes warily up to hers, and she smiled in satisfaction. "I know that you have a soft spot for that brother of yours, but if you let him, he will bury you."

She paused, as though waiting for him to reassure her that he had no plan to assist Connor in his pursuit of the Hawkwasp. Kearney said nothing and so Amanda continued.

"You mustn’t help him, Nathan. Do you understand me?" Her tone was suddenly sharper, demanding, but she didn't once raise her voice.

"Yes ma'am," he replied automatically, a soft wrinkle forming between his brows. "I understand perfectly."

"I only want to see you free. You're being wasted here and that's a shame," she insisted, softening again, until she almost sounded genuinely motherly. Her posture was proud and reserved, unreachable. 

"Do as I say, Nathan, and soon this entire sentence will be overturned," she reassured with a certain, unspoken satisfaction. "There is still a place for you with me. There always will be."

He was silent. 

Everything in his expression was neutral, save for the way his jaw clenched as he chewed at the tip of his tongue, and the way his frame held itself rigid.

Amanda smiled and glanced at the fancy, jeweled watch around her wrist. "Are visiting hours really over already?" She asked, letting out a sigh, but not at all attempting to feign surprise. 

"Heed my advice, child," she said with a kind of confidence that dared Kearney to disobey her. "I'll be seeing you."

When finally she had vanished down the corridor, Nathan released a slow, deep breath, his body relaxing, though a certain tremor still wracked him.

Later, when the CO came around for hourly checks, Kearney was already waiting at the glass for them. 

"I need to make a phone call," he stated in a clear tone that was barely removed from his usual calm, yet removed far enough to sound very much like urgency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! How was this chapter? I don't know about you lot, but I was so excited to finally have Amanda show up! Were you surprised at all? Suspicious? Let me know!
> 
> We are ALMOST caught up to the Twitter version of the story now! Still, my Twitter is a couple chapters ahead, so if you can't wait to read more, check out my social media. A directory to all of my threaded stories can be found in the comment section of my pinned tweet! :) Have a great week, friends!
> 
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> 
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